Harry's Hands
by Herione Catz
Summary: Harry Potter is entering his 5th year at Hogwarts while struggling with the death of Cedric, the imminent discovery of his relatives abuse, and even greater challenges than all of the previous years. On top of all of this, there is a strange glowing in his hands...? (Sevitus, sort of. Powerful!Harry, more info inside) Rated T for swearing, abuse content... might change
1. Chapter 1

'Harry Potter is entering his 5th year at Hogwarts while struggling with the death of Cedric, the imminent discovery of his relatives' abuse, and even greater challenges than all of the previous years. On top of all of this, there is a strange glowing in his hands and the poor boy doesn't know what to do about it! What does it mean and what happens when the glowing, which started out as a minor inconvenience is imperative to the future of the Wizarding World?'

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I making no money off of this

Warnings: Sort of a Severitus, mostly minor swearing, Powerful!Harry, physical/verbal abuse- those are the immediate ones I can think of

This is my first fanfiction so treat me kindly. Feel free to add any constructive criticism.

His hands were aching abominably, tightening with the raw, unused power that beat palpably just underneath the flesh. While the pain wasn't that bad, it was a type of pain he was completely unaccustomed with- one which cannot necessarily be described as "an ache" or even a "sharp" pain. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd even say that the middle of his palm was... glowing? But that would be crazy and utterly unacceptable, especially in the presence of his "loving" relatives.

He sighed, deftly massaging the palms of his hands. The pain just seemed to grow worse as the days went on, and just as exponentially his anxieties grew too. His fingers were itching to practice magic, yet Harry knew it was illegal and he could not risk another visit with the ministry. Now that Harry thought about, it probably couldn't be his magic that was acting up... magic wasn't painful, magic didn't pool into your hands desperately wanting to be released. Then again, what did? Nothing. That's just it.

Perhaps he should tell Dumbledore, he'd know what to do. At even the mere thought of the man, Harry's face twisted into a mixture anger and mortification. There was a plethora of things unmentioned between the two, and he couldn't bring himself to make the concession that he needed his help. Despite the childishness of the argument, especially in the face of something as potentially dangerous as his "aching hands", Harry wouldn't contact him.

Sighing shakily, he stood and pressed his palms warm with the sensation of pain to the cool window. The minute relief it managed to give Harry died away just as quickly as it came, and the longer he stood the there the hotter the glass got. Soon it was as if someone had put a magnified heating charm on the window!

Yelping, he retracted his hands, gaping at the glass which was now steaming! He eyed his hands warily and paced busily, who else could he tell? Dismally his mind sifted over the possibilities. He could write Hermione, but chances are she'd freak out and contact Dumbledore. Ron? He wouldn't even know and he'd probably tell Hermione. Sirius... no. Snape? He may be knowledgeable, but hell no. He'd rue the day when he asked that greasy git for anything.

He ticked off all the options in his head; it looks like he'd have to wait until his birthday, when he was taken by order members. Glancing at the tick marks on the wall, that was about 4 or 5 days away. Could he withstand it that long? What if something happened?

"If it gets any worse then this, I'll tell someone." Harry vowed silently to himself. He wished bitterly he had his trunk with his things in it, he might've been able to research just what was going on with his hands... too bad it was locked in the...

POOF!

Jumping back in shock, Harry stared wide-eyed at what had appeared in his room...

"My.. my.. trunk," he whispered disbelievingly, rubbing his eyes as if unsure of what he was actually seeing. "How did I...?" Trailing off, he got up and warily circumvented the trunk, eyeing it and deliberately checking it for anything which appeared remotely dangerous. Could it be a trick?

Slowly he unclasped the silver lock, opening it with a cautious attitude not normally associated with him. He peered at everything; it was just how he left it! His books, robes, trinkets... and even photo album were safely ensconced in it. Nervously, he fingered the lining of the trunk, treating it as if it were a grenade that would inevitably explode. Quickly deciding it was safe, his face stretched into an unnaturally wide grin. The question that lingered in his mind about just how it got here swirled away in his resolve to re-explore everything that he had forgotten. Along with the question, Harry had barely even noticed that the pain in his hands had diminished slightly with the feat of magic just performed.

Flipping open a defense book, and forgetting all of his worries, he was finally able to begin his summer essays. Strangely, he found himself more pleased than he had been all summer. As the night wore on, he found himself getting drowsy...

Harry was travelling intently through the forest... he was so close, he could feel it pounding through his bones, pure instinct setting his soul alight with purpose and knowledge and passion... His hands ached more fiercely than ever before, tendrils of excited magic leaping out in exaltation... now was the time, he had waited so long... too long. Each time his feet tapped the dense forest floor he could feel himself getting closer.. .so close... The bond was just beginning, his destiny was just right around the undergrowth...  
He was almost there...

-  
"Up! Get UP! NOW!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice bounced throughout the room. He groaned, feeling his ears twinge in pain.

"I'm up, I'm up," he replied, voice rough with dried phlegm. "I'll be down in 5 minutes."

Groggily he opened his eyes, the irritatingly bright sun piercing through the window and cutting into his shoulder blades. He grimaced, pushing up his sore body that had been awkwardly resting on his open defense book all night- on the floor, of all things. Smeared ink and a red, irritated book shaped mark adorned his face which gave him a rather strange appearance. He thought over the odd dream he had, the intensity of the emotions he felt was more vivid than the forgotten imagery. It was certainly an odd experience. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he became just as aware of his pain. His hands ached once again.

"Just fantastic," he drawled to himself, examining them more closely to find that his faintly glowing palms had grown brighter with tendrils flickering visibly out towards his fingers. Just what was going on with him... ? Vernon was not going to be happy with him if he noticed. With a resolved glance, he pushed aside his thoughts and slipped on a long, over sized t-shirt. Padding lightly down to the kitchen, he plastered a neutral expression on his face. "Would you like me to make breakfast, ma'am?" he cantered, a rhetoric he repeated everyday with a very predictable answer.

"Get to it, don't you dare burn the bacon." Aunt Petunia warned with an undisguised viciousness lingering in her voice. "You may have one piece of toast is you behave and get your chores done." He barely managed to keep the annoyance out of his expression, "Yes'm."

Working steadfastly, he deftly cracked eggs into a skillet and eyed the bacon with all the skill of a professional cook. The light sizzling of the eggs relaxed him as he poured in copious amounts of salt and pepper. He had enjoyed cooking, well-not when he was little, when he was inexperienced and was likely to be hit with the frying pan when the food burned- but certainly now when it gave his hands something to do.

Uncle Vernon lumbered down the stairs, "Boy!" he hollered angrily, and the sickly feeling of foreboding weighed in Harry's stomach.

"Yes, sir?" he replied with all the forced innocence he could muster, staring down at the bacon intently. Just what did he do now? "You.. you..."

Vernon's face turned an ugly shade of purple and he shook with hatred. Harry turned off the stove, glancing determinedly over at him. "Why. Are. Your. Things. Not. In. Your. Cupboard?"

Harry gulped, nearly shaking at seeing him more enraged than he could ever remember. Stupid, he should've at least hid his things under the bed! What was he thinking? Vernon eyed the boy dangerously, approaching him with pounding feet. The house shook almost fearfully with the combined weight and force of his steps, making Harry feel very tremulous. "Sir...?"

Harry collapsed to the ground as his Uncle's fist barelled through the air and hit him in the ribs. Thoroughly winded, he curled into himself protectively; staring like a deer caught in the headlights. His breathe heaved in and out painfully and there was a piercing feeling in his chest, he had been sure he heard something crack. Glancing with pursed lips at his tight wristwatch he looked at Harry,"I will deal with you later, boy." he whispered quietly yet forcefully. He straightened his fine suit, adjusted his tie and left the house to work. All Harry could do was just stare as he left, feeling all at once pained and flabbergasted. Sure, his Uncle was not the best person to live with... he had over the years made his sheer hatred of Harry very apparent, yet the man had only ever given him the occasional slap. To see that the violence had escalated this far had, frankly, terrified Harry.  
All the while, the birds chirped and the bacon sizzled, smoke filling the air.

Well shit, he'd burned breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I'm making no money off of this

Wooo chapter 2!

Warnings: minor swearing, physical/verbal abuse

Slowly, Harry uncurled out of his protective ball all the while biting his lip and grimacing at the pain in his chest. The boy carefully lifted his shirt and eyed the large, fist-shaped and rapidly expanding purple splotch on his torso. As the shock eased away, the pain returned with a vengeance- it was hard to breathe and he didn't know how he would finish his chores today. His eyes brimmed with tears and a lump welled in his throat.

Aunt Petunia, who had been watching the events unfold, peered speculatively at Harry. Perhaps some shred of sympathy existed within her black, shriveled soul because she soon roughly handed him a tall glass of milk, all the while saying: "Go, I'll deal with the chores today."

The rare show of kindness had winded Harry almost as much as Uncle Vernon's fist had, "Okay.." he spluttered, confused. "Thank you."

She pursed her lips with a distasteful, yet somehow softened, expression on her face. "Go, before I change my mind."

He scurried to his room as fast as he could, which, in this condition, was not very fast. Easing onto the rough, springboard mattress he sifted through the days events in his mind. It was all very surreal... as Vernon's violence had increased tenfold it seemed that Petunia's went down just as equally. What's more concerning is that Vernon said "he'd deal with him later", and Harry had no idea what that meant, he just knew he should be dreading it.

As the dewy morning wore on into the hot, humid afternoon, which then proceeded to turn into a cooler evening, Harry's mind ran over what Vernon could possibly want with him now. The darkest, most painful scenarios played over and over like a broken record in his head and his instincts were screaming at him to get away. Yet rationally the boy knew he had nowhere to run where he wouldn't be dragged back here and he could barely even climb up stairs right now- how could he be expected to quietly get himself as well as his things out of the house without being caught? Besides, Vernon's anger had probably abated over the long hours at work, maybe he had even forgotten his threat to Harry.

It wouldn't be so bad, Harry consoled, Uncle Vernon has never really been this violent before and it's sure not to last. He's only got, what?, four days now that he has to stay in this house... surely Harry could make it. Ending on that somewhat positive note, the boy soon drifted off to a fitful sleep. All the while the tendrils of flickering, warm magic in his palm protectively curled around him- caressing and trying to mitigate the damage of his injury.

Harry was there again, but he was closer this time... the forest leapt out of his palms, determining all of the stretches of existence itself.

Dark greens, bright reds, rusty browns and deep shades of blue whirled everywhere.

He was free of pain, the entirety of the boy's being engrossed in a singular, all encompassing purpose... he was close, so very, very close...

A vision lingered in his mind, a vision of power and dragons and wild magic... a vision of...

Harry's sleep was soon interrupted when he heard clumsy, hard footsteps of his Uncle pound up the stairs. His eyes bolted open, fear almost making his body bolt upwards despite the injury. The boy breathed evenly, keeping deathly still and silent as the footsteps grew nearer and nearer. Even though it was likely Vernon was just going to go to bed, the dreadful feeling of foreboding couldn't help but make his insides feel slick and icy. His hands clenched onto the sheets, creating crescent shaped indentations on the mattress itself. As his fear magnified with every thump on the creaky floorboards, the glowing in his palms expanded outward.

Suddenly, he heard various locks being undone- the locks on his door. Regrets along the lines of how he should've run away were welling into an endless pit in his stomach, putting a realized, and very much palpable, weight on his chest and limbs. He cautiously lifted himself up out of the bed, and stared at the door- the one, final and flimsy barrier between himself and the thing of his fears. Everything else crumbled away into ashes as his mind circled pitifully around what Vernon could possibly want him for.

As the last lock was unlocked, the door slammed against the wall so hard it rebounded, only to thump uselessly against the man's hand. His expression was pure viciousness; years of unadulterated hatred poured into his eyes, hardening them with resolve and making him look all the more mutinous.

"You," Vernon spat and the smell of hard alcohol wafted through the air, "YOU caused this."

Harry remained silent, pinned by his Uncle's gaze with a placating, yet ultimately futile, expression on his face. He didn't dare speak, nor would he be able to.

"We...we let you in, give a place to stay, FEED you... and you..." he exclaimed, sputtering all the while due to the alcohol. Leaning on the door frame for support, he went on, "You choose to repay us by.. by making our lives living hell, you worthless freak.."

On and on he went, vindictively listing everything wrong with the boy. Harry stayed quiet and still, not even allowing his breathing to get too loud lest it agitate his uncle into violence.

"And... directly disobeying ME, who's done everything for you, stupid worthless thing." Soon he quieted, approaching Harry with a gleam in his eyes which made the boy very uneasy.

"Sir.." Harry trailed off, taking a few steps back.

"I'm going to beat the freak out of you, boy, which I should've done many years ago..." Vernon muttered with, his voiced laced with excitement.

Harry's expression darkened with fear, "Sir.. wait, wait, I'll tell... I'll tell my 'wizard' friends and they'll ... they'll..." he protested weakly, his words trembling pathetically.

Rather than having the intended effect, the words further provoked the man into a blinding rage, "Not if I have anything to say about it," he jeered with glee, circling Harry like prey.

The first punch hit Harry by surprise, and then multiple others rained down upon him. The force, intent and rage of his uncle's fists was such that his back slammed forcefully against the bedroom wall. He wailed out in pain, clenching his eyes and holding his head. It was only a few minutes later when he felt something other than a fist hit him- a harsh, stinging pain lashed down his back.

Harry wished more than he ever had before that he was back at Hogwarts in the common room, feeling a warm, crackling fire tickle his skin and hearing the laughter of his housemates. He wished he was having an unhealthy breakfast of toast and treacle tarts, lamenting the fact that his transfiguration essay was due tomorrow... or riding on his broom, his feet so close to the Great Lake that they skimmed the cold water. Little did he know, the glowing in his palms, which had diminished when Vernon had stepped into the room, now came back full force and encompassed the room in a blindingly brilliant light.

To Harry's great confusion, a deafening blasting sound, along with the feeling of being squeezed through a tight tube, had overtaken him. With a pop, a large, ornate room swirled into existence. His damaged body fell from 3 feet up and slammed onto the cold, marble floors. Rubbing his eyes and grimacing, he looked around only to gasp in disbelief.

"I.. I'm... how did I..." he sputtered uselessly to himself. He was in the Great Hall! There was no way... this couldn't be, Hogwarts had anti-apparition wards! It had to be a trick, perhaps by Voldemort. Maybe his uncle beat him so long that he started hallucinating in a last ditch effort to escape the pain. Yet he couldn't deny the rough, antiquated taste in the air nor could he deny the oddly corporeal texture of the gritty, comforting stones along with the tentative, faint smell of autumn and spring- it was the smell of home. It made his eyes burn with tears he'd never admit. Despite his suspicions, his face broke out into a wide, uncontrollable grin of sheer happiness.

He grabbed a hold of a familiar grand staircase- feeling the smooth surface of the railing hesitantly, as if it would disappear, before he used it to haul up his frame. He frowned, wondering where he should go. He could possibly drag himself to the hospital wing, but Madam Pomphrey probably wouldn't even be there.

He sat, pondering for a moment how he even got here before his gaze traveled to his hands. They didn't ache so fiercely or, more exactly, he was in such a state of pain that he had just forgotten about them. They seemed different, less swollen certainly. The tendrils still flickered out playfully from his palms yet it was much less pronounced now. If he had apparated here, which shouldn't even be possible, then maybe his magic did it for him? But.. not even Voldemort could've done that; it just isn't possible. He had never showed much potential for power either, he grades were at best mediocre... well, except for defense.

He shook his head, clearing away the cobwebs of his thought. Trembling slightly, he realized there was no way he would be able to make it up the stairs while he was like this. He needed to find out how he got here and, even though he loathed to admit it, where Dumbledore was.

"Hello?" he called out hesitantly, the word echoing uselessly. More confidently, he exclaimed: "Hello? Is someone there?"

If only he had a sonorus charm, something to amplify his voice... yet he left his wand in his trunk. Choking back tears, he realized that his uncle may have possibly destroyed everything he owned that meant something to him in a streak of vindictiveness.

Suddenly he called out again, "HELLO!", unknowingly channeling his grief into his voice. He was taken completely by surprise; instead of bouncing off the walls, his voice carried confidently through every corridor, hallway, and nook of space in the castle- it was a loud, rising tide of sound which one would have to be deaf not to hear. If Harry didn't know any better then, hell, he'd say that he wandlessly as well as wordlessly cast the sonorus charm on himself... but that would be crazy! Deciding he'd think on it later, he said more quietly yet equally as resonant, "Please come to the Great Hall."

He cautiously plopped himself on the cold marble stairs, waiting. If no one was in the castle, well, then, he was screwed. There had to be, though. The caretaker must be here over the summer, right?

His back stung terribly and his fresh coat of bruises ached horribly, if he cared to look he would be sure that the back of his shirt was ripped and coated in partially dried blood. He buried his face into his palms; how could he possibly explain this? His uncle wasn't a good man but he didn't deserve to get in trouble, Harry had been a burden right from the very beginning... the man would've had a happy, normal life with a wife and child but he ruined it with his freakishness. Besides, the man wasn't normally this violent. As if it had a consciousness of its own, the magic tendrils from his hands had seemed to almost... reach out? and console the boy like an affectionate parent.

Soon he heard the clack of shoes hitting the marble ground and, feeling decidedly heartened, he looked up. His expression withered away quite quickly when he realized with a bubbling sensation of dread that his most hated professor had appeared.

Snape.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: You know the drill, I am not JK rowling and I dont make any money off of this

Warnings: mentions of abuse, minor swearing (?), etc, etc.

Severus Snape was having a bad day- he woke up feeling terribly nauseated, mourned the upcoming school year and, as such, had ruined his first potion in three years. After spending hours hunched over a simmering cauldron, the final result was black, putrid sludge. Finally, and perhaps must horribly, as he was going to sleep someone had the gal to produce a loud, overpowering Sonorus charm which roared in his ear 'HELLO' and some drivel about coming to the Great Hall.

Sneering and not able to admit to himself that he had been properly startled, the cynical man transfigured his sleepwear into his black, characteristic robes. Steadfastly, he winded his way through the dungeons and up to the Great Hall, fully prepared to throttle whoever was there.

His eyes roamed around the room until they settled on a lone figure slouching over in equal parts pain and exhaustion. He stared wide eyed for a moment, disbelieving his own eyes. There, on the stairs of the Great Hall, who most certainly should be with his relatives, was none other than Harry Potter.

Too prideful to allow himself to look absolutely surprised, he settled on curling his lip in distaste. How dare the boy directly disobey the Headmaster's orders by coming here and, most importantly, interrupting HIS sleep! Precious, pampered Potter thinking he has the right to...

The train of thought was stopped in its tracks as he got closer and saw the dark splotches of purple and red marring the boy's face and arms. He stood, eyes widening despite himself and feeling thoroughly shocked.

Who did this to the boy? Surely it couldn't be Voldemort, he was supposed to be safe at the damnable home of his. None of the order members would've done this either, nor would... his relatives. No, his relatives most certainly couldn't have done this to him... he's perfect, pampered Potter. They wouldn't lay a finger on him. Despite his firm denials, Snape felt his suspicion grow exponentially. That couldn't happen, the boy did not stay in a home for 15 years that would abuse him. It's inconceivable.

The boy sat ramrod straight, staring resolutely into Snape's eyes, while feeling weak and ashamed to be seen this way. Neither of them truly knew what to do or what to say, the situation was so far-fetched and out of place that it surprised both of them into silence.

"Who did this to you?" Snape queried, a dangerous tone lurking just beneath the surface. A protective instinct which the man never knew he had lit up and spread like a fire through his veins, it was a foreign sensation.

Wincing, the boy looked down at his feet with a dark, unreadable expression on his face. "I fell." he whispered, and it was the most pathetic lie Snape had ever heard in his life. A Hufflepuff could do better.

"I will not tolerate lies, Mr. Potter." he drawled, feeling his suspicions simmer. After a moment of silence, and in a considerably softer tone than before, he said, "Can you stand?"

"Y-yeah," Harry replied diffidently, extremely interested in the patterned, marble floor tiles. Grimacing, he grasped the railing and hauled himself up, determinedly looking everywhere but his dour looking Professor's eyes.

"Here, lean on me, Potter." Snape ordered firmly, leaving no room for argument. The boy glanced up anxiously, feeling mortified beyond belief.

"I'm fine," Harry whispered hoarsely, digging fingernails into his palms.

The man peered at him with growing irritation creeping into his voice, "You most certainly are not, Mr. Potter, now stop acting like a child or, so be it, I will carry you myself." he threatened darkly.

Hesitantly, he unclasped the railing and hobbled awkwardly as he leaned against his professor. It was such an odd, out of place scene. If the pain weren't so intense, and the feeling of Snape's silky robes against him not so real, Harry would have believed wholeheartedly that this was all a strange, long dream.

The surreal feeling seemed even more plausible because the Hall was much, much too silent for the boy's taste- his ears were only attuned to the sounds of roughhousing and students hurrying to their classes. After a few moments of silence, with only the sound of the resonating footsteps travelling through the floor and bouncing off the corridors, Harry broke the silence. "Where are we going, sir?" he queried, much more politely than expected. It would not do to annoy Snape when he was so vulnerable right now.

Peering with an unrecognizable expression on his face, the Professor began to speak, "I am taking you to the Hospital Wing, daft boy. Where do you think I'm going, a muggle amusement park?" He was angered by something that the boy was not yet aware of, and that feeling channeled sufficiently into his voice.

"Is anyone else in the castle, sir?" Harry asked, thoroughly undeterred by his Professor's rather brisk tone.

Snape gave him a long, demeaning look, "No, I believe that besides myself and Filch they are all whisked away on some futile Order Business."

The boy bit his lip anxiously, trying to distract himself from the creeping sensation of embarrassment by looking at the portraits lining the wall. They weren't particularly interesting in the sense that he'd seen them thousands of times when traversing this corridor and consequently he just couldn't seem to distract himself. Questions of a wide variety seemed to be churned out of a factory in his head, such as what would happen now and whether or not he would be sent back to his relatives, what was happening with his hands, as well as everything that built up over the summer. His refusal to ask those questions may or may not be because he was afraid of the answers, though his pride would not permit him to fully admit it to himself.

Soon they reached the dreaded infirmary where Harry had spent many long, painful hours perched in a bed over his Hogwarts career. The familiar scent of sterility and bed sheets did very little to comfort him.

As the boy got closer and closer to the uncomfortable looking infirmary bed, he glanced nervously back at the wide, oak doors. Dreadful thoughts seeped into his mind like runny water colors trailing down a canvas- what would happen when Snape saw the extent of the damage? Who would he suspect did it? Would he ask questions- or worse, expose his secrets in class? Harry stopped firmly in his tracks, paling dramatically- no, no, no this couldn't be happening! He could just imagine it, sitting in class while that greasy git jeered at his abuse and the Slytherins laughed uproariously; the rumors would circulate around school... and then there would be the eventual leak to the Daily Prophet... the sheer mortification...

Snape stopped in his tracks, confusedly looking down at the boy who looked paler than soggy oatmeal. "Potter, are you okay?" he asked, the words and the unprecedented amount of concern he showed feeling foreign on his tongue.

The damned boy seemed engrossed in some horrifying fantasy and as his breathing sped up he tried furtively to back away from the man, with terror lurking behind those green eyes. Was he afraid of him? Well it is true that the 'greasy git of the dungeons' was not necessarily the equivalent to a flowery, sunshiny meadow, yet the petulant child never had any qualms about acting rudely in class- why should this be any different?

"Snap out of it, daft boy! I'm not going to hurt you!" he exclaimed, masking his concern with anger. Instead of helping the situation, it magnified the boy's fear. He flinched, propelling himself backward and plopping onto the floor.

"Please.. don't, sir, can't we just pretend this never happened? You can.. can take me back to my relatives, and, and... I'll never bother you again.. and no one will have to know.." Harry pleaded tearfully, hiccuping as tears poured down his face.

"Potter, stop your incessant whining! You're not going back there!" the professor said, hollering at the sullen boy. "You are not going anywhere until you are thoroughly healed."

As he tried to help Potter up, the boy shrunk fearfully away from him. "Please, please.. don't tell anyone that I'm a freak, please..." he stammered, protectively grasping his head with his hands.

The dour man sighed, conceding the point that the boy would not calm down by himself. In a considerably softened tone, he said, "I don't have an inkling of an idea of what you are babbling about, but, I promise by the power of Merlin that I will not tell anyone that you are, as you put it, 'a freak'."

Prompty accio'ing a calming draught, Professor Snape handed it to the hysterical boy. Harry glanced briefly into the man's eyes, perhaps to find out why he was being so pleasant, or to try and confirm the draught was not some sort of poison.

Partially convinced the potion was ultimately for his benefit, Harry tilted the crystal phial and chugged the thick, soupy mixture down his throat. Grimacing at the soapy taste, he handed the thing back to Snape. The man extended his arm to the boy when he was thoroughly calmed down, and gently helped him to his feet.

As the potion worked its way through his body, Harry could feel the blood rushing through his veins slow down and the beating of his heart feel less like it was slamming against his sore rib cage. While the potion calmed Harry, the rush of fear died away and to replace that came the burning sensation of mortification. He couldn't believe he did that, in front of Snape no less! He... he referred to himself as a freak, and sat there practically begging the man to not hurt him. Now he'd truly have ammunition against the boy, Harry thought glumly.

While entrenched in the steely, loathsome confines of embarrassment, the boy wizard had failed to notice Snape approach him and felt dimmed shock when the man picked him up- like, like a child!- and plopped him firmly onto the infirmary bed. Flinching slightly, despite the calming draught, he felt blush creep onto his cheeks. The man, undeterred, pulled out his wand.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, hesitant and somewhat afraid as he cradled his ribs. Fleetingly he noted that his hands were not acting up right now, and the warm glow usually associated with the palms was now a barely noticeable, yet faintly beating, color of yellowy-orange. He felt relieved; he didn't know how he'd explain his hands to Snape, of all people. Though, the boy noted, he has been pretty decent so far.

"Firstly, I am going to cast a diagnostic charm," Snape said, falling back into his brisk lecture tone, "Secondly, I will deal with any fairly significant injuries and, whilst you sleep, I will deal with any... peripheral injuries."

A question which weighed heavily on Harry's mind hung furtively in the air, a tacit sort of question that one would refuse to prompt yet was expecting the answer to.

Snape seemed to sense these unspoken words, and, as such had answered, "I will not interrogate you tonight, yet rest assured we will have some words about who's down this to you in the morning." he replied, a silent threat was palpable both to the unknown perpetrator and to instill a measure of truthfulness in the boy.

"I'm going to diagnose you now, you shouldn't feel anything besides a light tingle." the professor said quietly, not wanted to needlessly scare the boy. "Speuruum," he enunciated clearly, with an easily distinguishable measure of force and power.

A parchment list popped into the air and with every passing second it grew as it accumulated a wealth of knowledge about every scrape, scratch and injury Harry had on him. It was an intensely violating experience, to have every fault bared out for the world, or more specifically Snape, to see. He could see the piercing, questioning eyes impaling him like a knife from every angle.

Fantastic! I can hear my non-existent audience waiting in anticipation for the next chapter

If you review, I will be ever so pleased


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone, thank everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed, thought about following, etc, etc.

You are all too awesome for mere human words to even describe.

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no $$$ off of this

Warnings: maybe minor swearing (?), mention of abuse

Snape tried to keep the darkening expression from creeping onto his face, he felt his blood boil with raw anger when, one by one, the injuries had expanded the list. The boy kept his head ducked and curled into a position that kept his ears covered with his knees. Pure, undiluted and intense mortification crashed down on him in forceful waves, making tears well into his eyes. He had never been so embarrassed in the entirety of his life, the feeling only rivaled by one time in grade school when his teacher got suspicious of the bruises on his arms... or once when Dudley was beating him up and the entire school rallied around him.

He sniffled, trying to shield his burning face and angry tears. The rhythmic beating of the magic "pools" in his hands which were tightly clasping his sides were relaxing in the sense that they provided a sensation of stability. A minute or so later, the odd tingles which spread throughout his body and scoured it ruthlessly for injuries had died away and, hesitantly, he looked up.

Snape's lips were pursed in agitation as he grasped the list hanging in mid-air and roamed over it with his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration and lined with stress. "You have three broken ribs, one dangerously close to puncturing your lungs which causes a difficulty in normal breathing." he said in a characteristic drawl disguising his true anguish, "Bruising to your torso, minor internal bleeding, a ventricular fracture on your left ankle, a wrist healed at a wrong angle, a broken arm, moderate concussion..."

Harry shook softly, unwilling to hear anything more of the damage his Uncle had done to him. He prayed silently to himself that the professor would just forget about it, heal him and move on without sparing a thought towards him, yet things never went the way he wanted them to. After a silence in which only the sound of shifting robes could be heard when Snape changed his position, Harry opened his mouth, "Will anyone else have to know about this?" he inquired softly, a pleading tone dripping like hot wax into his voice.

The man looked older than he had only moments before, lines becoming more pronounced on his face as he frowned softly. "Yes," he replied, feeling a disgustingly thick empathy form a hard lump in his throat, "At this moment it is not necessary, yet in the morning I will require you to make a statement, inform Madam Pomphrey and the Headmaster of your condition, as well as document your injuries for any possible legal procedures."

Harry's hopeful expression withered and died away, leaving his emerald eyes look glassy and dull. Trying to take a deep, calming breath yet ultimately failing, he said, "Okay. I don't.. I don't want to talk about it tonight, please."

Snape nodded his head and hardened his expression, getting to work. Ordering the boy to lie down on the bed, he went about healing Harry and watching him grimace in pain every now and again.

"Episkey," Snape enunciated, pointing his wand at his torso while Harry clutched the bed sheets in pain. He couldn't bare to look at the man's face, yet the lack of emotions expressed helped ease the embarrassment minutely. Sweat beaded on his brow as he hissed in anguish, making him wipe it with his sleeve every minute or so. As the man went about on his job, circumventing the bed and gracefully flicking his wand with obscure medical spells, the boy felt some of the more constant pains gradually fade away.

The man gently helped the boy ease into a sitting position, handing him a delicate phial with liquids the shimmered gently, "A pain potion," the professor remarked at the inquisitive expression on the boy's face. Immediately Harry tipped his head back and drained the glass, feeling the warming, smooth potion travel down his throat and spread through his aching body. "Would you like a Dreamless Sleep, Potter?"

The boy looked calculatingly at the glass before shaking his head, he already felt warm and exhausted enough to fall asleep relatively easily. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he closed his eyes and found a comfortable position on his side.

Harry was there again, this time the forest less foggy than before... he could tell it was the forbidden forest... the tall trees forming a dense, leafy canopy that the wind rustled ominously.

The call was there, not audible and not expressible by any means, yet an intensely instinctive drive guiding him exactly where he needed to be. It was something which had been thrumming for a long, long time... for all of time itself perhaps...

The thrumming was dormant in all of his ancestors, yet here it was, solely purposeful for his existence, an intense ball of yellow and gold and silver lights emanating from him and dancing throughout the forest while playfully tickling his ear.. The tendrils which originally reached only his fingers were twined in spirals and curled around over his upper arm like a striped, "zebra esque" second skin. The boy could tell it was the middle of winter, yet the powerful wild magics that spread from his very core, to this arms, and bounced off to the outside world had heat up the immediate vicinity to such a point that the snow melted on immediate contact...

The thin boy panted with the strain for running this distance, yet there was no way he could stop...

He was closer this time, he could tell. The flesh of his palms felt like it would explode with the pressure, the magic practically dragging him to his destination... his destiny, the answer to his call... a vision of power and dragons and wild magic... as old as time itself.

Harry gasped loudly, his torso jolting up as he shivered at the intensity of his dream. Futilely he closed his eyes, trying desperately to regather the details of the strange and unbelievable vision yet the images spread out and diluted as if he were trying to catch smoke. Frowning, he refocused his attention to his hands- the only resounding detail he could remember that was a central theme to the dream. Besides the pain which had intensified from last night, he could tell that they had evolved somewhat- his hands were brighter and more whipping tendrils had grown out from the magical ball in the center to start curling around his wrists. He firmly decided that when he got the chance, he would record the progressive growth of the "glowy things". Aside from that, the boy also needed a more effective way to hide them from curious eyes which he resolved to find out later.

Turning his head to look at the black shape that shifted slightly in his peripheral vision, he was faintly surprised to see that it was none other than Snape. Quickly he pulled his sleeves down over his hands when the man stirred and grimaced at his aching back. He must have been there all night, Harry noted guiltily, feeling like he didn't deserve that sort of attention.

The professor looked rather ruffled, a scene which felt inherently wrong because the man was always so precisely well groomed and dressed. "How are you feeling, Potter?" the man asked, staring blankly into the boy's green eyes.

"Fine, I suppose." the boy replied sullenly, nervously picking small pieces of lint off of the infirmary pajamas he thought Snape must have transfigured.

The elder man stayed silent and calculating. "Should I tell you now?" Harry nervously, before adding, "about what happened, I mean?"

"You may tell me now or after you have breakfast."

Harry sighed, thinking over his options. He didn't know if he'd be able to choke down a meal while brooding over the upcoming conversation even though his stomach was aching with hunger. After a hesitant moment, upon which he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, he answered, "I think I want to get it over with now."

"I have flooed Headmaster Dumbledore and told him of your current residency in the Hospital Wing; if you want to tell him and exclude me, or vice verse, you have to option to do so."

"I think I'd rather just talk to you, right now."

The professor felt his stomach churn, hoping silently that his relatives did not harm him. If that were the case, if he had allowed Lily's boy to live in an abusive home for fifteen years; if he had been too blinded by childish hatred for the boy to help him earlier, he could not fathom how he would possibly swallow the burning regret. Snape peered searchingly at him, watching those shifty, damnable green eyes, and he felt he already knew.

"I will ask you a series of questions which you must answer truthfully to," the man said in a characteristic drawl, "if you feel it necessary to lie then just reply that you'd rather not answer."

Harry took in the information for a moment, swallowed nervously and tried to conceal the tension in his voice. "Okay, go ahead."

"Firstly, who has harmed you this way?" Snape asked, disguising his feverish need to know with a neutral tone.

Nausea swept through the boy, making him look away and sigh shakily. He aggressively tried to stop the tears brimming in his eyes, distracting himself with idle thoughts. "I, well, it was..." he whispered, barely able to force the words out, "my uncle was mad at me."

The professor could not stop his sharp intake of breath or the momentary expression of pain which flitted on his face. The temperature in the room dropped multiple degrees as he felt a combination of guilt and roaring anger build in his gut and boil through his nerves. Never would the man have suspected that... that... those people...the boys "relatives" would ever lay a finger on him, and the thought further made the burning feeling in his chest increase. He took deep, calming breaths and looked up at Harry, seeing a flourish of tears. Hesitantly, the man put the leather chair he sat on closer to the infirmary bed and slowly, yet surely, rubbed small circles into the boy's tense back. Relishing in the gentle, caring human contact the boy unconsciously leaned towards the touch and sniffled lightly, seeming to forget just whom was offering this small measure of comfort.

After a few minutes, in which Snape felt his vicious need to protect the boy surge incredibly, and Harry felt his stress decrease sharply, their positions shifted. "I would like you to tell me the full, unabridged version of what happened." he demanded, noticeably phrasing it as merely a request.

Gulping, with a pleading expression on his face, yet receiving no concession from Snape, the boy nodded amenably. "Well, a few days ago, I sneaked out my trunk from my- the cupboard,"

The man caught how he almost referred to the cupboard as 'his' yet tucked that thought away for later, "They placed your school things in a cupboard?" Snape interjected warily.

Harry nodded, "Yes, they aren't big fans of magic, I guess, that's why I usually wasn't able to finish my school work. Don't want me infecting Dudley with my freak things." he replied, giving a lightly accusatory glance towards his professor for always insulting him about not doing his summer work 'up to standard'.

The man shifted guiltily in his seat, "Go on."

"So, I did some of my work and fell asleep without putting any of it back in the cupboard and in the morning Aunt Petunia demanded I make breakfast," Harry shuddered, lost in the memory. Snape frowned but didn't comment, "I, I went downstairs and I was making breakfast, when, when...my uncle called for me while coming down the stairs."

"-I asked him what was wrong and he apparently had seen the things in my room because he yelled at me about it; telling.. telling me that I was an ungrateful freak. I think it was the final straw for him."

The professor had unknowingly clenched his hands into fists, creating crescent shaped indentations on his palms.

"He punched me in the ribs and went to work, saying that he would 'deal with me later'."

Snape grimaced, "Why didn't you get out of that house? At least tell an impressionable Order Member of Dumbledore's?" he said sharply.

Concealing a flinch, Harry scratched his head sheepishly. "I didn't think he'd beat me up so bad; he was never so violent before besides the occasional slap. I thought his anger would dissipate and he'd forget about me..." he stammered, before continuing, "Anyways, Aunt Petunia said she'd deal with the chores so I spent the day in bed. I fell asleep and, and, my uncle got home after work... I think it was a bad day 'cause he looked even madder than in the morning."

He went into my room and yelled at me for a while, and I tried to placate him but that just made him even angrier. He threw me towards the wall and started kicking me." Harry finished, futilely trying to keep from weeping again. Snape resumed rubbing his back while conjuring a handkerchief and giving it to him, and the boy merely cried harder at the show of kindness.

"How did you get to Hogwarts?" Snape asked, very curious. There was no possible way he could have traversed to a floo station with the injuries he appeared with and it was unlikely he'd be able to make it through the wards, as it was summer time.

Harry froze, wondering how he'd possibly describe what happened last night. For a blank, fearful moment he pondered the possibility that he would be exposed even more so as a freak than he already was. He would not be able to come up with some elaborate story as is, and the man would easily be able to see through the transparent lie. Steeling himself, he said honestly, "I.. I didn't really arrive here on purpose, I was just.. thinking about how much I'd like to be here and I just.. I just... popped into existence."

The professor gaped open mouthed, truly astonished. Try as he might, he could not detect a lie in the boy's sheepish statement. Furrowing his brow, he stood and whisked away to the nearby floo station. Throwing in a handful of powder, the man called out "Dumbledore's Office!" and soon disappeared.

Harry watched warily, the chagrined expression melting off of his face, leaving a stony, cool and anxious teenager in its wake. He couldn't imagine what Snape was doing when he abruptly stood up without saying a word and briskly walked away; it left him feeling hollow and fearful. Chewing his lip, he waited.

It was a few minutes before Snape reappeared, sauntering over with a bright-eyed Dumbledore trailing after him. The boy watched the two figures warily, frowning slightly. "Sir? What's going on?" he questioned.

"Harry, my boy!" the man greeted warmly, yet his eyes seemed a diminished murky blue filled with concern when he saw the pale boy. Wandlessly conjuring a breakfast, as if such a thing could resolve the deep tension between the two, he pushed it eagerly towards Harry. "Well eat up my boy, how has the family been treating you? You were injured rather badly, I hope Severus here has informed them of your whereabouts so they don't worry too much. Please tell me the story."

Harry's shoulders tensed, biting his lip slightly as Snape nearly flinched. Although Dumbledore was responsible for placing the boy with those "relatives" of his, he could tell that the elder man cared dearly for Harry and it would crush him to find out just what has been going on for so many years. The professor stepped cautiously towards the boy and the Headmaster smiled tenderly as he placed his hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder.

The student looked up pleadingly at Snape, silently begging him to stop the proceedings while the Headmaster watched the scene silently with growing worry. Hesitantly, the dour professor, apparently deciphering Harry's silent language, shook his head with a foreign touch of empathy. "The boy's relatives are the problem, Albus." Severus remarked, waiting for the words to sink into the man's stubborn skin.

As the seconds that were beneath everyone's notice passed in mutual silence, only marked by the rhythmic ticking of the clock, a remarkable transformation in the Headmaster had occurred. Firstly, confusion lined his face, followed by realization and shock, as well as anger, and finally, perhaps most painfully, the man wilted with abject horror. "Is this true, Harry? Did your family do this to you?" he asked in a whisper, needing yet not truly wanting to know.

Harry frowned, feeling confused by the uncharacteristic seriousness, as well as fear, lining Dumbledore's voice. All the anger and hatred he felt towards the man over the years which welled up like a liquid in the seat of his stomach had nearly immediately evaporated as he felt unwilling waves of sympathy gush from an underground stream in his heart. He opened his mouth, prepared to tell him, yet ultimately faltered and stopped as he shuddered at the guilt and deadness in the elder man's eyes. The boy himself was very accustomed to the terrible weight of guilt and he could not bring himself to subject that to Dumbledore, despite everything the man had done. He looked older than he'd ever seen him before.

The Headmaster took notice of this sympathetic hesitancy which he clearly did not deserve, the sound of the clock booming in his ears. Unwillingly images circled through his head; memories of, year after year, Harry begging to stay at Hogwarts, everyone fooled by the excuses of 'quidditch injuries' when they saw the bruises, Mcgonagall telling him the Dursleys' were "the worst sort of muggles"...

Snape clenched Harry's shoulders softly, reminding him he was there and that he did not owe lying to the man to spare his feelings. Looking down at the scratchy sheets beneath him, he twiddled his thumbs before returning Dumbledore's intense gaze, and replying, "Yes."


	5. Chapter 5

Hello guys, this is a rather short chapter but the last one was long, so HA.

I'm surprised people actually like this! Wow, my neck is going to break with how big my head is getting.

Warnings: no swearing, mentions of abuse, AngstyTeenagerMode 3000x

Disclaimers: I'm not JK rowling, I make no $ off of this

The Headmaster seemed to collapse in on himself without really moving at all and it was a terrible sight. "I've failed you." he said with a faraway look, not daring to meet the boy's eyes.

Harry peered at the graying man and shifted his position closer to him, "Yes, yes you have." he replied honestly, "But you did what you thought was best, what you thought would keep me safe and it's the intent of your actions which matters."

Snape felt a sensation of begrudging respect in his gut; he'd never noticed how perceptive the boy was. "I'm okay and I forgive you, so how about we start over?" he heard the boy yammer, feeling a growl rising in his throat at seeing how sickeningly forgiving the boy was- it reminded him far too much of Lily.

The twinkle reemerged full force back in Dumbledore's eyes, a wizened, grandfatherly smile dancing across his wrinkled lips. "You really are much too forgiving to an old man, my boy." he remarked happily, and Severus found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with the statement.

Careful to keep the sleeves concealing his glowing palms, Harry awkwardly patted the man on his back. "Yes, well, the question still remains how Potter managed to apparate into Hogwarts despite them being the most powerful wards in all of Wizarding Britain." Snape interjected, trying yet failing to do an impressively foreboding glare.

The young boy laughed nervously, "I don't know, it was like magic or something." he joked, emitting a chuckle from Dumbledore.

Silence reigned for yet another moment, before the Headmaster spoke with a permeating seriousness in the air, "Harry, what you've done is nothing to take lightly- even the most powerful of wizards, such as Voldemort, could not have possibly achieved such a feat." Snape barely managed to keep from flinching at the use of the Dark Lord's name and if it were anyone besides the headmaster than he would surely hiss at them, Harry noted.

Harry shifted uneasily in the bed, pondering over how he had made it to Hogwarts. There was no possible way that he was more powerful or capable than Voldemort, despite him apparating to Hogwarts which was an unbelievable feat of magic. "Well, is there a problem with the wards around the school? Maybe they've weakened and it allowed me through?" the boy asked, unwilling to think that he was different magically from his school mates- the thought that he was even more of a freak than he originally was made him feel despondent.

"No, Harry, I checked them already and they are as strong as they always have been." said the wizened Headmaster thoughtfully, his eyes beaming brightly.

Snape narrowed his eyes and peered at the young boy, curling his lip in thought. Pacing surreptitiously, he proposed a new idea. "Maybe the boy didn't actually apparate."

"Why would you think that, Severus?"

Concealing a scowl at the use of his first name, the man glanced towards Harry, "Well, the boy said he was wishing heartily that he was at Hogwarts, it could be possible that a rudimentary form of wish magic combined with him being a student made the castle protectively shield him which allowed him to traverse though the wards."

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his beard pensively, his crinkling brow showing that he was mentally hard at work. "Wish magic? but that's..."

"of extreme rarity, I know." the man interjected, still pacing. "There's no other possible explanation; what mere boy could have made it through the oldest wards made by the most powerful wizards on earth?"

Harry pouted gloomily, feeling creeping agitation at being referred to in third person. He was in the same room, you know! "Don't talk about me like I'm not here- what's wish magic, anyways?" he asked with a hint of rudeness in his voice.

Snape ignored the irritated tone, "Wish magic is a branch of accidental magic that occurs when a wizard truly wants something; considerably rare" he answered vaguely.

"Accidental magic? Doesn't that stop when you start Hogwarts?" the boy asked with confusion.

With pursed lips and a raised brow, Snape drawled, "As per usual, you are the exception to the rule,"

Dumbledore clapped a hand on Harry's back as he stood up, grinning down at the two boys. "Well, Severus, Harry, I must be going- do not hesitate to visit my office whenever you'd like." he offered before leaving in a bright flourish of smoke.

Blinking with shock and then grimacing tiredly, Harry grabbed a still-warm biscuit off of the plate of conjured food and nibbled on the slightly burnt edges. Pouting he asked, "So when am I going back to the Durselys'?"

The usually sharp professor looked disbelievingly at his student. "What makes you think that?" he queried, feeling slightly hurt, "Do you truly believe that we would cart you back to those people after they abused you?"

Harry winced at the term "abuse" and felt unusually guilty at indirectly offending the man, "Well, no, I think you're a great and you've done everything you can..." he stammered, mollified, "but, but, surely I have to go back?"

After taking a deep breath, Snape felt a weight of sadness in his chest. It was very obvious that all of the adults in the boy's life have failed him so miserably, and that thought tugged at the few heartstrings the man had. Shaking his head, he kneeled down at eye-level towards the boy, making sure he would hear his message clearly. With all of the intensity he could muster, he promised, "For as long as I live, you will never be going back to your 'relatives'."

Harry was not one to believe the promises of adults, yet there was something about the tone and inclination of his professor's voice that one knew they could trust wholeheartedly. It was not a blind trust that was just waiting to broken either, which was the dynamic of the boy's relationship with the headmaster, but it was a type of trust which one can't help but implicitly feel is correct. Then he realized that, even though the sour man had been wildly unfair with him, he had never lied.

Harry blinked and could only nod dumbly in response. After a silent moment, in which both of them relished in the seriousness of the statement, the boy asked, "Well, okay, who will I live with?"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I'm not jk rowling, I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing, mention of abuse,

"It is the headmaster's belief that you should reside here over the duration of the summer break," the man replied curtly, "if that arrangement is not suitable for you, then surely there are many who would take you in. "

Harry looked away with eyes distant in thought; it would be very nice to stay with the Weasleys' but with Voldemort back, it would be too big of a risk. He would not compromise the safety of the family any further by his selfish needs and just associating with them already put them in the line of fire. Besides, the death of Cedric was still a fresh wound and he dearly wished for some time alone, perhaps the quietude and solace of the ancient castle would sate this desire. "I think I'll stay here." he added, lapsing into momentary silence before asking, "Will I stay in the Gryffindor tower?"

The professor nodded sharply, "Yes, a house elf will most likely be arranged to deliver food. The library isn't closed lest you want to begin on any summer assignments, yet curfew still applies."

The boy was glad he'd finally be able to do his work in peace without having to worry about being punished for having his school books out. Suddenly perking up, Harry was reminded of this trunk! He wondered what happened to it; was it still at the Dursleys'? He couldn't believe he had forgot about it, "Wait, what about my stuff?"

The man then pulled out a compact box that was the size of a square eraser from his deep pockets and as he waved his wand the small item grew to its original size. Harry couldn't help the wide grin on his face, "Fantastic, my trunk!" For a moment he had thought that his "relatives" would have destroyed it in an act of spite, yet he then came to the conclusion that they would be too afraid to even touch it. "Thank you."

Snape grimaced, reminded briefly of how he had obtained the boy's things. He had entered the Dursley residence in the middle of last night, effectively waking up Potter's 'doting' relatives. A walrus of a man, whom he presumed was the boy's uncle, barged down the stairs and proceeded to rant at length about how he would not accept the "freak" back into his home. Casting a quick silencio before the slug could enrage him into violence, Snape scoured the house only to find a stale, under-furnished room that had a multitude of locks (they had caged the boy in, like some sort of animal!). Perhaps the only upside of the visit was that Harry's school things were mostly undisturbed.

The boy looked up at him expectantly before asking hopefully, "How long do I have to stay here, in the infirmary, I mean? Oh! and I thought I was supposed to be staying with the Order..."

"You will remain here until I get Pomphrey to clear you, which will probably not be until tomorrow morning, seeing as how you are still sore." Snape answered, watching his hopeful expression wilt, "You are not staying with the Order because the blood protection died as soon as you arrived here, therefore Hogwarts is the safest location for you."

Sighing in resignation, the boy lied back down and stared blankly at the white expanse of ceiling. Pouting childishly, the boy said in a nasally voice, "Okayyy." before adding, "When will I get to see my friends? and Sirius?", resolutely ignoring Snape's sneer at hearing his arch rival's name.

"I have informed them of your presence in the Hospital Wing and they are all eager to see you, they should be arriving shortly." the dour man informed, "Your... godfather has been especially persistent."

Feeling a wave of nausea, Harry put down his half-eaten biscuit with a darkening expression. He didn't quite know how he'd explain his injuries to his friends and while Snape would be tolerant of him preferring not to tell them just how he got them, he'd be less tolerant of any outright lies. Harry didn't know if he'd be able to see them realize just how unloved he was; it was a scary, mortifying thought. The professor, seeming to recognize this hesitancy in the boy, consolingly said, "Your friends will undoubtedly be very supportive, Potter. They'd want to know what happened."

Harry felt his sight blurring as his eyes brimmed with unwilling tears, "I just, I just don't know how they'd feel about it; firstly, that I kept this from them all these years and secondly, that..." he muttered, trailing off and thinking Snape couldn't hear him, "that I'm a worthless freak."

The boy reflected on everything which had happened and how unworthy he was; after the events of 4th year with the death of Cedric, Harry was entirely convinced that it was his fault and it was purely his freakishness which had killed the boy. It had shattered his confidence irreparably to find out that his uncle was right all along when he referred to him with harsh monikers, such as "freak" and "ungrateful" and "worthless". He couldn't count how many times those very words circled through his head, and the boy was terrified at the idea that the people he loved would realize that within the next few hours.

Meanwhile, the Boy-Who-Was-Trapped-In-His-Thoughts did not hear the sharp intake of breath from Snape who had finally pieced together the evidence: not only had the boy been subjected to physical abuse, yet verbal abuse was a resounding part of his life while being "cared for" by his relatives. The thought angered him to no end and he felt liquid fury pour onto him, trickling through his spine; he should've killed those people the second he had the chance.

Realizing he was scaring the Potter boy, the professor took deep breaths and tucked his revenge-filled fantasies away for later. Calming down, he grasped Harry's shoulders firmly in his hands, making sure the message would come across. "Listen to me and listen closely, Potter."

Potter looked up with a confused expression spreading on his face, peering with red-rimmed eyes at his professor. "Sir...?"

"I don't know what foolish things those relatives beat into your head but you never have been, never were and never will be a 'freak'." Snape said with an unprecedented amount of intensity and honesty, "You are just a normal boy who has been subjected to far too much."

Harry smiled bitterly, wishing he could believe that particular sentiment- he had tried to convince himself of it many times. Opening his mouth and preparing a retort, he was cut short by the loud sound of the infimary doors busting open and a group of people pouring through. Snape abruptly unclasped him and stood like a sentinel by his side.

All at once there was a clattering of feet and a multitude of things said along the lines of, "Harry! You're okay!" and "Harry, we thought you were...", as well as the impatient inquiry of, "What happened?" The things which especially stood out were Hermione's bushy hair, the Weasleys' freckles and a large black dog.

The boy smiled affably at the sight of his friends and cautiously reached down to pet through Sirius' jet black fur as he trotted up; he was positively surprised at how soft it was. When the wrongly-convicted man had been on the run, his animagus form had been malnourished with dirt-clumped, coarse hair. It was a relief to see how much Sirius and his lovable dog form had recovered. Perhaps the best thing was that his cold, desolate stare (as a result of the constant presence of Dementors) had slowly evolved into warm, slightly mischievous beam that was capable of making anyone feel heartened. As he straightened himself up, a mass suddenly collided into him and the only thing he could see was a blur of chocolaty hair he'd grown fond of. Barely keeping himself from flinching, he soon grew used to the warm touch and patted consolingly on the masses' back. The figure, which was obviously Hermione, had pulled away and looked at him with a wide, relieved grin on her face as well as eyes puffy from crying.

Ron clapped a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder, staring knowingly into Harry's eyes. "We were really worried, mate." he said with an unusual amount of emotion in his voice. Various noises of agreement could be heard from the rest of the figures in the room, ranging from excited barking to a chorus of yeses.

"How dare you worry me like that, young man!" Mrs. Weasley hollered, moving up the procession of people and grasping his cheeks in her hands as if to convince herself that he was still a corporeal, living being. "Oh, Dear Severus here had told us how hurt you were!" she said, motioning to the grumbling man, "and none of us could believe that you'd gotten yourself into trouble again!"

Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks as there were sniggers heard all across the room. Praying silently that someone would rescue him from this torture, the twins interjected, "We tried to ask Snape what happened but-" began Fred.

"-he wouldn't tell us anything and-" George continued.

"-he said it was your story to tell." Fred finished aptly, his grin diminished slightly. The small crowd of people waited expectantly for the story which, in typical Potter style, was bound to be exciting and fraught with heroic adventure. Harry's happiness at seeing his friends receded slightly and he couldn't help but feel himself get closed off. Looking wayward at some undefined point in space and shuddering at the uncomfortable memories, as well as the embarrassing idea of telling his friends, he distracted himself by looking at the infinite loop of white walls.

"Not right now," he whispered nearly inaudibly, yet the group was so intent that they just barely caught it. Turning his head back to his friends, he said more loudly, "I will tell you all soon, but right now the memory is still too fresh; I also want to say it to you more or less individually."

The seriousness of his voice had sobered up the light atmosphere and made a mist of tension permeate through the room. The silence was only broken by Sirius' tuneless whimpering as he pawed irritably at his ears and moved in frenzied circles, clearly worried by the heaviness of his godson's voice. Harry patted the dog consolingly, as if to say 'I'm alright'.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: spoiler alert, I'm not JK rowling!

Warnings: maybe minor swearing, mentions of abuse

Hermione felt dread curl like a snake in her abdomen after Harry's grim pronouncement that he'd "tell them later" because the memory was, as he put it, "too fresh." She couldn't help but feel terrible suspicions linger in the back of her mind and frightened, unstoppable memories circulating in her consciousness. As if someone were flashing snapshots in front of her eyes, she unwillingly remembered how small and feeble the boy came back each year to Hogwarts, how he never went home for Christmas break, and how he had listened intently to her description of summer yet would be vaguely imprecise about his own.

Meanwhile, Harry was lost in his own dark and equally as terrifying thoughts. He wondered how everyone would react when they inevitably found out that his uncle... that his uncle had... the boy tensed, unwilling to finish that particular train of thought. While the smaller voice in his head said that they would supportive and his experiences were nothing to be ashamed of, the overwhelmingly large voice in his head screamed that they would all abandon him with the drop of a hat. His throat closed as he looked down at Sirius and wondered just how painful it was going to be to tell the man and he determinedly ignored the increasing wetness of his eyes. Suddenly memories of how Snape said his friends would be supportive invaded his mind, and it was a somewhat comforting thought that the most cynical man on the planet was confident in his own assessment that things would be alright.

Hermione put a friendly arm around him, squeezing tightly in motherly fashion to convince herself that her unnameable suspicions were not at all the case. Nodding up at her, a worried, wispy smile appeared on Harry's face. Her eyes narrowed at him and he remembered how she was the most perceptive member of their trio, and while her intelligence was at first a barrier to their friendship, soon he grown fond of her being a "walking encyclopedia".

Ron appeared beside them, offering silent yet oblivious support. As per usual, his rather dense attitude stopped him from making any conclusions. "You do whatever you need to, mate," he ordered as comfortingly as he could, and breaking the prevalent tensions in the room, he added, "When are you gonna be up and out of here? I've been dying to play Quidditch with you!"

The one last sentence seemed fully to reverse the somber atmosphere and, as if someone had flicked on a light, the innocent inquiry about his ability to play Quidditch soon transformed into a competitive and slightly menacing debate about the weaknesses of the Gorodok Gargoyles' keeper. Snape, still standing near Harry's bedside, sneered at the trivialities that people engrossed themselves so thoroughly in nowadays- why, if everyone were this excited about potions, they'd have invented a cure for Wizarding Pox a thousand years earlier!

The rest of the next two hours or so were filled with the sounds of games of Exploding Snap, as well as Wizard's Chess, and happy sounds of laughter. Ron had proudly been the victor of whoever had the gal to challenge him and Hermione, meanwhile, plastered a look of haughty jealously on her face that anyone could dare outwit her. Fred and George snickered mischievously, obviously enthralled in some potentially explosive plan. Sirius, meanwhile, was eagerly fetching conjured sticks that Harry threw across the infirmary. If anyone were to walk in then immediately they'd recognize that these sounds and sights were the unmistakable embodiment of friendship. As the day wore on, and Harry exhaustedly tried to contain his yawns, Snape shooed them out of the infirmary despite the many protestations along the lines of Ron's fueled mutterings of, "greasy git" and Hermione's bordering-impolite pleadings.

As soon as everyone was herded out of the room, a stinging sense of loneliness reappeared and Harry rubbed his chest furtively to remove the feeling. The golden, sunshiny day did nothing to mitigate this feeling and the boy briefly wondered why he was feeling so tired despite how well he had slept last night. The professor looked at the meager amount of food the boy had ingested from when Dumbledore conjured it this morning, and he growled, muttering, "Daft boy." He would not have the boy starve himself because he wasn't a suitable caretaker.

Briskly he walked towards the potions storage area near the back of the infirmary and delicately plucked a phial from one of the many labelled cabinets. Harry grimaced at the puce-colored potion making its way towards him and asked grossly, "What is THAT?"

Snape glowered at him, "Since you seem so inclined to neglect eating the breakfast the headmaster was so kind to bring you," he drawled in a voice saturated with accusation, "you are going to be ingesting this Nutrient Potion."

Harry stared unblinkingly at the man, "Do I have to?" he begged even though he was well aware that it would not effect him.

The professor, apparently not swayed, said in a measure of vindictiveness, "Drink up, it is a rather interesting blend which I have made myself." Smiling wryly, he handed the toxic looking concoction to the boy.

Sighing in resignation, Harry downed it in one and nearly gagged at the acrid taste. It tasted like a combination of sweaty gym socks and ceiling wax. With scrunched eyes the boy blindly grabbed for a glass of water sitting on the bed side table and chugged it eagerly. Looking a pasty green color, Harry threw a glare in the man's general direction. "That's a particular potion you will grow accustomed with."

"Surely you can modify the taste?"

The professor shot him a wayward glance, "You'd think that after four consecutive years in my Potions class you would be aware that modifying the taste would mean modifying the chemical composition and therefore rendering the potion useless."

The boy shrugged with a sheepish expression on his face before yawning tiredly.

"Why do I even need it anyways?" he muttered glumly.

Snape stared at him with a raised eyebrow, "Your dear relatives were not aware of how to feed you properly." he answered, before adding, "I will personally make sure that your abominable eating habits change. Now, sleep."

"But it's only in the afternoon." Harry protested.

"You have been through an ordeal, Mr. Potter. I suggest you go to sleep before I tuck you in and read you bed time stories." he threatened.

Harry reeled, stammering for a few seconds before he realized it was a joke and laughed heartily. He'd never imagined that the greasy git of the dungeons could be funny! Snape had a vaguely amused light in his eyes and they basked for a moment in the "almost-friendship-but-not-quite" atmosphere. It was the first time that the boy realized just how much their relationship had changed in the short time they'd spent together.

Soon he struggled to keep his eyelids up and, for the first time in days, fell into a dreamless, welcomed sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I'm no JK rowling.  
Warnings: minor swearing, mention of abuse

Thank you everyone who reviewed, read, favorited/followed!  
Any constructive criticism you have, you should give me!

"Mr. Potter," a feminine voice chirped from somewhere. "Mr. Potter, time to wake up."

Wrinkling his nose and digging his face into the scratchy infirmary pillow, he blatantly refused to greet whoever so rudely interrupted his sleep.

The unknown figure pursed her lips slightly, "Mr. Potter, if you do not get up right now I will not hesitate to cast an Aguamenti." the suddenly harsh sounding voice demanded.

Opening his eyes, the distinctly ruffled teenager sat up in the bed lest the threat actually  
be serious. He shielded his eyes blearily from the sun peaking through the open curtains and the agitation he felt rose to great heights. "What?" the boy asked roughly, before realizing it that the figure before him with a bustling Madam Pomphrey and promptly giving a chagrined grin. "Sorry, ma'am, I mean, what's going on?"

Poppy smiled hastily and pushed a large tray towards the boy. "Eat up."

Harry looked at the dish with a less than ravished expression, yet plastered a false smile on his face and thanked the nurse for the meal. Despite the enticing traditional breakfast of steaming eggs and greasy bacon, the boy could not muster enough enthusiasm to do more than push the food around his plate.

"I'm clearing you to leave the hospital wing today," Madam Pomphrey informed, remembering the boys dislike of the what he 'lovingly' dubbed a white walled prison, "yet only when you finish your meal."

Harry pouted indignantly before digging into his food with a renewed vigor. Smiling slightly, Poppy said, "When you leave, I'll have a house elf deliver you a nutrient potion everyday." resolutely ignoring the boy's prompt grown, she continued, "the regular rules of when you are in the castle still apply, mind you, and you have to have a check up every week with either Professor Snape or me to see if you are gaining weight properly."

The petulant boy blushed, determinedly eyeing the cold floor tiles in place of thinking about the implications of the woman knowing that he was, as Snape put it, 'malnourished'. It probably also meant that she knew about... about his uncle. Concealing a sigh, he replied with a bored sounding "Okay."

Poppy peered at the frail boy with a sad grin, feeling older than she had ever felt before. It was not often that an abused child managed to evade her care for this long and she couldn't help but feel like she had grievously failed the boy. What's more disturbing is that Harry had been her most common patient yet he STILL hid his injuries completely from her. If only the uncle's retched care had been discovered in his first year, he may have been placed with a loving family... it pained her greatly to see what had happened to Lily's son. Reminding herself that it was no use to think about 'what ifs', she pursed her lips with grief and quickly wheeled around to hide her teary eyes. Dabbing them with a handkerchief, she steeled herself and briskly tried to keep herself busy by fluffing pillows and straightening sheets.

Meanwhile, Harry was finishing his meal in record time and he'd be damned if he slowed down. He felt a wave of nausea in his gut make his throat expand and the food start to taste utterly rotten, yet he didn't think he'd be able to stand the whiteness and sterility of the Infirmary any longer- moments like these he felt his sanity dripping away and being evaporated into those damned walls. The blankness of them was thoroughly effective in caging him in with his own thoughts, thoughts he was not prepared to confront on his own. Finishing his meal, heading to bathroom and quickly changing, the boy soon bolted with his trunk being dragged behind him.

As he closed the oak doors behind him, he smelled the nearly forgotten scent of cinnamon wafting through the air. The cold, unsympathetic metals and emotionless expanse of white that had invaded his vision the past few days were completely replaced with the warm brown mahogany and rich red walls of the school. Despite the nausea, Harry couldn't help but feel perverse glee make a bubble of laughter rise out of his throat.

His palms, which had been relatively dormant since he arrived at Hogwarts, were now expanding outwards with a vibrant golden, inherently happy glow to match his positive energy. The ripples of intense light had seeped gradually throughout each tendril, causing thin, yet equally vivid, ripples of light to bounce through the halls. The boy stared disbelievingly at his hands, both shocked and enthralled by the lights. Suddenly Harry heard footsteps echoing in the hallways and hurriedly dug his hands into his pockets. Squeezing tightly to conceal the glow as much as possible, he prayed that whoever was there would just leave.

"Potter," the familiar drawl echoed forebodingly, yet impressively, towards him. 'Shit' was a thought that ran loose through Harry's brain.

Smiling tightly, he kept his hands buried deeply into his pockets. A covered box seemed to be floating obediently behind the man. "Oh, hullo, Professor Snape." the teenager's voice trembled weakly. "What are you doing here?"

The man looked suspiciously towards the boy, narrowing his eyes, "Restocking the infirmary, if you must know." As he grew nearer the man stopped and leaned heavily towards the boy.

The moment lapsed into a long, drawn out silence wherein Harry twitched nervously and Snape scowled viciously. The man's eyes bored heavily into the boy, hooking him into an intense staring match. Shuddering, the boy shook his head when he felt a barely noticeable, yet distinctly violating, brush in his head...it was as if something were trying to look into his head. The dour professor then looked away and suspiciously regarded the odd, tense pose the boy had with fists clenched tightly in his pockets. Was there something wrong with his arms...?

"Show me your hands, Potter." a harsh, brisk voice demanded.


	9. Chapter 9

"My hands, sir?" Harry's heart dropped into his stomach and he could not conceal the anxiety that made his nervous smile crumble away. Snape looked at him calculatingly, his acumen gained from his spying days helping to chip away at the boy's obvious act.

Harry wished wholeheartedly that his hands were not glowing, yet he knew that was a futile prayer; he could just see the reaction he would get from the professor! Feeling a sea of nausea sweep over him, Harry imagined just what would happen- the man would see his hands, freak out, tell Dumbledore, Dumbledore would freak out... and the Headmaster had a tendency to do rash things when he freaked out. The boy was also well acquainted with the idea that the only way to keep a secret between three people is if two of them are dead- he'd be encouraged to tell his friends and, next thing you know, the Daily Prophet would somehow become intimately aware of this element of his freakishness.

"Your hands. Now." Snape demanded, his voice hardening with resolve and anger that the petulant child dared not obey him! The man growled as he thought about all that he had done for him; healing the Potter boy, staying by his side, promising protection... then he pondered just what possible danger the damned boy could be hiding from him now and he felt slick dread slice through his gut.

Harry prayed with fervor to every god he could think of; 'please don't glow' was the resounding thought repeated like a religious mantra in his head. Squeezing his eyes closed and not wanting to know what would surely be the verdict, the boy hesitantly unclenched his fingers and pulled them out of his pockets. He stayed that way for a moment before feeling utterly confused that he didn't see a faint glow through his eyelids. Building up a tenuous courage, the boy peeked open one green eye childishly and gaped at his absolutely normal looking hands!

The professor grasped the boys hands, peering at them intently and flipping them over to scour the surface for traces of anything visible. Yet, much to his astonishment, there was nothing! How, and more importantly, why had the boy been so anxious if there were nothing there? Harry fought to keep the sheer astonishment he felt off of his face and, maintaining a somewhat neutral expression, replied, "Is that all, sir? I should really get my stuff to the tower."

The fact that there was something the boy was hiding was so apparent that Severus could nearly smell it in the air; it was the thick, sickening and sterile smell of formaldehyde. Frowning in thought, the man soon relented and stepped back as he conceded the point that there was no evidence of anything. Furthermore, he did not even know what to be suspicious of in the first place.

Snape leaned towards the Potter boy,"I don't know what you are hiding, but I know you are hiding something; rest assured that I will find out what it is, whether you like it or not. And if I find out you are keeping something from me which leads to your injury or to others, you will rue the day for the rest of your miserable life." he hissed quietly with a threat loitering quite obviously in his tone. After letting the words sink through the boy's thick exterior, he continued, "If you tell me right now, I will let it go and you will not be punished."

Harry gulped, "I have nothing to say, sir." he answered, hating himself for the small squeak in his voice.

Sneering slightly, the man receded and the lines around his mouth suggested that they were tightly closed in irritation. Perhaps the boy was actually innocent after all; if he truly were hiding something than the man was sure that his spying skills would've caught it. Snape sighed nearly inaudibly in resignation. Briefly walking into the infirmary, the man dropped off whatever package he had apparently had with him. As he spun the other way, he tucked his hands into his voluminous robes and threw a wayward glance towards the boy, "Potter, if you have any trouble at all you are permitted to come find me." he informed tightly, some sort of inner dissonance going on past his neutral veneer. "I realize that these past days have been rather difficult for you and I would rather you talk to someone than let it build up."

The boy blinked stupidly, feeling a strange warm feeling blooming in his chest at the thought that the normally aloof man cared about his well-being. Harry rubbed his chest awkwardly and had assumed the odd sensation was an after effect of all the salves placed on the bruising around his ribs."Thank you for the offer," the boy said, grinning with strangely bleary eyes, "I'll think about it."

Severus felt discomfited yet heartened at the boy's response and shifted in his robes uncharacteristically. Clearing his throat, the man nodded his head once downward and, with a great flourish, walked down the hall and towards the dungeons in deep contemplation.

Harry waited until the sound of the man's footsteps disappeared as the distance between them grew before sliding down the wall and landing with a plop on the ground. Breathing heavily, he chuckled slightly as he wiped his sweaty brow. As he examined his hands he realized how lucky he was; what were the chances that the glowing would just... just... go away right when the man questioned him? He thought about how, during the past few weeks or so, every time he had really wanted something he had gotten it. Firstly it started out as small things, such as wanting a glass of water when weeding Aunt Petunia's gardens under the oppressively hot sun. Slowly this strange power had evolved and the next thing he knew his trunk appeared in his room when he needed it. The power culminated into an impressive show- he had been able to apparate to Hogwarts when his uncle was... 'manhandling' him, Harry noted with a shudder. Lastly, and perhaps must luckily, he had been able to evade Snape's suspicions right when he wished for it. Whatever this thing was that seemed to be helping him, whether it was something external, or his own developing powers, Harry knew he needed to figure out what 'it' was soon to find the best way to deal with it. Firstly he needed to find out whether or not his glowing hands were gone forever or just disguised, but it would be safer to do that in privacy.

With resolve, the boy stood and started dragging his trunk to the beloved Gryffindor common room. He was going to test these new found theories right when he had the chance.

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Sitting back on the plush couch in the cozy, familiar common room, Harry felt both mystified and perplexed. Flexing his hands and scrunching his face in consternation, the boy tried to focus. For what felt like the hundredth time since he made it back into the common room, he requested frustratingly, "Please glow, hands." While he was sure there would be some way he could get his hands to glow again, whether or not he was sane was debatable.

Sighing when he opened his eyes and nothing happened, Harry felt dim worry lingering in the back of his head. It had been a couple of hours and the feeling of aching power in his hands had since returned from when he was confronted by Snape. He knew that has hands still had the power granted by the glow because he could feel the familiar ache of magic, yet for some odd reason the glow was completely invisible despite his best attempts to get it back. No matter how hard he wished, nothing happened. Did he just not want it hard enough or was there some other reason?

Tucking that question for later, the boy tiredly slumped off of the couch. As Harry had planned earlier, he grappled with his trunk and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment to record his observations. Smoothing out the crumpled paper, he began writing.

_"Hands: started out as small glow in middle of palm (around late June?) _

_- mid July: large cicular glowing ball (yellow, sometimes gold)_

_ Last 1 and 1/2 weeks: started to grow yellow tendrils up to finger tips- tendrils grew more active/whip-like _

_July 24ish: tendrils growing out of ball up towards wrist area _

_July 26: leave infirmary, feel really happy- big light show (connection between emotions and hands?) - confront Snape, wish for hands not to glow- hands don't glow anymore!_

_Ideas/Theories: wish for things- things appear and happen to fulfill the wish (started when hands started glowing; connection? Correlation?)"_

Perhaps he should try this supposed power on something besides himself? Harry steeled himself and looked around the room for anything to perform magic on. Before he could test this theory though, the boy was quickly roused from his thoughts when a house elf appeared with a POP! in the room. Jumping backward, he stared unblinkingly at the odd green creature. "I'm sorry, can I do something for you?" he asked, momentarily forgetting that Snape had assigned a house elf to deliver food. She was a thin, scrawny creature with what look like an overlarge sheet draped over her frame.

The house elf flapped her large, floppy ears in surprise and teared up slightly. "Oh Masters Potter! Such a good masters! Wrinkly don't deserve such goods treatment from such a goods wizard!" she said in reverence before setting down an overlarge silver tray on the coffee table besides Harry. "Don't forget, masters, you has a nutrient potion you gots to take!"

Learning from experience not to argue with such profoundly odd creatures, the boy nodded reassuringly. "Thank you-Wrinkly, was it?"

Wrinkly suddenly had large fat tears slide down her 'dried raisin' looking skin with a wide grin. "Ohh! Sirs! Wrinkly is so flattered yous remember her name, sirs! Wrinkly doesn't deserves such goods treatment!" The house elf backpedaled in surprise and accidentally plopped over onto her back before sitting up.

Harry extended his arm, intending to help her up yet instead the house elf stared with even more wide eyes than usual at his hands. He stayed there for a moment, looking confusedly at her entranced gaze. Feeling relatively disconcerted, the boy retracted yet Wrinkly had quickly grasped his wrist before he could. He shivered as he felt her tracing a circle with her craggly fingers over his palm. "What are you doing, Wrinkly?"

She seemed to ignore the question in its entirety and, after a minute or so, looked up at him with even more reverence than before. The house elf smiled widely, commenting excitedly, "Oh! You sirs, yous has the power! I can sense it! Yous is about to meet yours destiny soon!" she murmured dreamily to herself, before adding, "if anyone can handle the old magicks, it would be Masters Harry!"

The boy felt his blood roar; what was she talking about? Did this having something to do with...? Harry cocked his ears, "My destiny? Wait.. what? What destiny? What do you know?" he pleaded as he half-remembered the forgotten imagery of the woods, running and him searching for something which suspiciously sounded like destiny in a foggy, distant dream. "You know about my hands, right? What can you tell me?"

The boy was more eager than he ever had been before to find out whatever mystery centered on him now. Harry had always had a need to know and, when he latched onto something, he wasn't able let it go until he could solve it. His vague curiosity towards the Philosopher's stone in the first year, the questions around whom was the Heir of Slytherin in second year and the the troubles of third year were not at all comparable to his insatiable, roaring desire to know what the 'glowing' was, why it had gone, and why odd things seemed to happen around him this past summer. Wrinkly almost danced in exaltation, ignoring the befuddled teenager.

She stopped and tilted her head inquisitively, "Yous mean Masters Harry doesn't know?" Shaking his head nearly manically, he waited for her to continue. "Yous gotten the dreams, haven't yous, Masters Harry?"

At his abrupt nod, the house elf tsked with a knowing smile. Harry waited, hanging onto every word with a raptness his teachers could merely wish their students payed to them. Wrinkly beamed at him with hooded, hazel eyes that seemed to be deep in enlightened thought. "If yous not know yet then Mother Earth thinks it is not your time to know yet, Masters Harry." she said with some sort of enormous insight lost on Harry, before shaking her head and returning to her normal energetic self. "Now, Sirs, you must eat! Yous is too thin! Masters Snape said to make sure..."

Gasping in irritation, the boy crawled towards the busying house elf. "Wait! Wait! Wrinkly.. please tell me, I've gotta know what's going on. What is it? Is it dangerous? What 'destiny'?" Harry interjected with his great curiosity coalescing into a giant weight on his chest. "How do you even know this, anyways...?"

Wrinkly huffed childishly at the interruption before giving him a long look and deciding whether or not to answer him. "I can't tell yous, Sirs, because I don't even know the details myselfs." she said with an air of sympathy, "what I does knows is what's been passed down from generations, Masters Harry Sirs; house elves like myselfs aren't like wizards, sirs, theys can sense the old magicks yous have around yous which is how Wrinkly knows yous is destined for great things's."

With a snap of fingers and a quiet POP, the house elf disappeared before Harry could get a word in. The boy felt his shoulders slump in disappointment- the one person (err... creature?) that could answer his questions wasn't going to. He dug his hands into the rug beneath him, anger making a red haze settle on his face. It was only a second before Harry heard something crackle beneath him and saw a light waft of smoke curl in the air. Cursing and immediately retracting his hands, he saw that he had actually burned a small whole through the carpeting! "God dammit." he said dryly, examining his normal-looking hands before looking towards the silver tray of food.

Starting on his still warm meal, the boy sighed tiredly and thought 'why me?'.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I'm not making any dinero off of this.

Warnings: maybe swearing, mentions of neglect/ physical abuse

Thank you everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed! The fact that people think this is, so far, a good story blows ma mind. I was wondering if you guys want:

a) chapters that are longer yet will be uploaded over a longer period of time

b) chapters that are shorter and are uploaded sooner

Tell me in a review, ye good and faithful servants.

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Harry opened his eyes slowly, feeling slightly pained at something sharp that had been poking into his back. Tiredly yawning and eyeing his surroundings, he was surprised to find that he had fallen asleep on the common room couch. Despite the boy's propensity for nausea brought on by years of malnutrition at the hands of his relatives, after he had downed the awful Nutrient Potion Snape brewed for him he found himself ravenously scooping large quantities of warm, rich foods into his mouth. He couldn't remember ever being so hungry and he suspected that the professor must have doused the potion with something else. On top of that, the food was so nourishing and satisfying that he must have fallen asleep right after he finished!

Harry grimaced at the pain in his back caused by the awkward sleeping position and he firmly made the resolution that he would never sleep on a couch again. Getting up, he noted that a house elf must've cleaned up his food because there wasn't a trace of anything left on the stout coffee table before him. He'd have to really chase down that house elf Wrinkly for some answers and he wasn't about to give up, yet right now his anxiety coupled with his perverse want not to know the details about whatever 'destiny' circled around him now made him tuck the idea away for later. Over the years, Harry had learned to distrust fate with a passion.

Swiveling his head around to the window, he saw that the afternoon, hot enough that it was borderline uncomfortable, had chilled into a more tepid evening. Considering writing his friends to tell them how he was doing, Harry hastily grabbed a few spare pieces of parchment and his automatically refilling quill.

_Sirius,_

_Hey, I'm glad you came to visit me in the hospital wing. I'm staying in the Gryffindor tower for the whole summer and I would like you to visit sometime, if Snape would allow it. I wish I could stay with you but since I left my relatives' house early, the blood protection surrounding it didn't hold so this is 'the safest place for me', apparently. Good thing is, I get the whole Quidditch pitch to myself!_

_Harry_

_Hermione,_

_Hi! I'm staying in the Gryff tower for the summer, I can't leave Hogwarts but you and Ron should visit sometime! How's your summer been? Have you done anything fun? As you know, mine was pretty boring up until..._

Harry chewed his lip, wondering how exactly to phrase it.

_'...until recently._', he wrote vaguely, leaving little room for questioning.

I know you have been worried about me recently but I think I'm coping with everything that's happened. Honestly!

_Harry_

_Ron,_

_Hey, I'm staying in the Gryffindor tower for the summer. It's gonna be awesome, I have the whole Quidditch pitch to myself and we could hang out sometime. Unfortunately, I can't leave Hogwarts to go anywhere because it wouldn't 'be safe', or whatever. How's your summer been?_

_Harry_

Finishing up all the other letters he had to write to various people, Harry shook out his cramping hand and considered for a moment writing one to the Durselys'. It gave him a slight vindictive sense of pleasure to imagine Uncle Vernon's face going red as an owl swooped through the window, probably he would be swapping at it futilely with a newspaper to get it out of the house! At first only chuckling, the more he thought about it, the more funny it became. The brief chuckles soon coalesced and condensed in nearly manic laughter, and tears ran out of the corners of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. His belly ached fiercely and his shoulders shook with tension as he vividly imagined the owl perching itself on Aunt Petunia's head and her screeching in surprise, yelling shrilly "Get it off! Get it off!". The boy's increasingly violent laughter abruptly turned into gut-wrenching sobs.

Burying his face that was red with an ironic combination of humor and sadness into his hands, he sobbed relentlessly with intermittent gasps for air. The boy cried harder than he ever had in years; the crying fit only matched once when he was five and stuffed in his cupboard for days at a time. He thought about all of the times in his childhood he had wished with every fiber of his being that maybe, just maybe, Aunt Petunia would hug him or Vernon would tell him he did a good job and ruffle his hair playfully...

Sickly, the boy vividly remembered once in grade school when he drew a crayon picture of himself, Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia holding hands in front of their house with wide, dopey grins-as if they were a real, caring family. He had walked home that day and hoped that maybe they would see the small token of gratitude and love him back. Opening the front door only an inch, he saw Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon arguing loudly. He stayed by the door, listening intently to every single word that spilled forth like putrid sludge from their mouths...

"He's a freak," Uncle Vernon whispered forcefully, gesturing vaguely to his cupboard, "we can't have him in the house anymore, I can't take it! He'll infect our Dudders!"

"I know that!" Petunia had yelled back with hatred and anger lacing her high-pitched voice, "But we can't do anything about it, that... that... _Man_ put him here and we have to accept the freak into our home."

The purple-faced man paced as he felt increasingly riled up, "He's... he's the reason why we have all the problems we do. His freakishness it's... it's contagious, I'm sure; I hate that damned_ thing_ in our home."

Young Harry, unwilling to listen to the winding rant anymore, stiffly closed the door and promptly ran the other direction. When he came back the next day, hungry, tired and dripping wet from the morning rain, Aunt Petunia promptly hit him on the head with a rolled-up newspaper and ordered him to "get to it", pointing at breakfast cooking on the stove. That was truly the first time that he realized there was no possible way anyone could love someone like _him_.

The boy, so engrossed in his memories, continued to sob uncontrollably and failed to notice a figure that had slipped into the common room.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I'm no JK Rowling and I make no $ off of this

Warnings: fairly minor swearing, mentions of abuse, some angst-yness

Thanks everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed. You are all fantastic people.

Any constructive criticism/praise/hate you have would also be awesome!

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Severus Snape was worried. More than worried actually, he was quite thoroughly disconcerted about a certain boy with a lightning shaped scar and glasses. The cynical man had no particular reason he knew of to be worried, yet it was to his surprise that he caught himself pacing very anxiously throughout his office. Despite the irrationality of his worries, the man just knew something was terribly wrong- he could sense the insidious feeling seeping through his rough skin, making his muscles tight with tension, and settling very deeply into his own bones.

An internal argument raged on like two sides fighting a war in his head, making it reverberate nearly painfully with his own conflicting sentiments. _The boy is fine, Severus, why would he not be?_, one side of his mind argued._ It would not hurt to check_, the other part of him said, _after all the boy is bound to get into some life-threatening situation every five minutes or so_. Yet the man knew that Potter was in no physical danger and, him being under the protection of Hogwarts, there was no way he could be unless the boy intentionally went past the anti-apparition wards. Even then, the professor was sure that the boy was thoroughly cowed from doing anything reckless after the culmination of his fourth year.

Frowning, the man hesitantly conceded the ludicrous idea that it was not necessarily the boy's physical well-being he was worried about right now and it could possibly be, perhaps just maybe, Potter's ... emotional welfare... that was considerably more important at the moment. He shuddered visibly at the very thought and was surprised that he did not outright deny it. Him- the sneering potion's master, the social reject- worried about... _Potter's_ boy? The son of the most arrogant, demeaning, controlling and attention seeking man on the planet?

If he were being entirely honest with himself, he would've admitted that he had always been worried about Potter. The boy was, after all, of Lily's blood too. The damned green-eyed menace always had the propensity to engage himself in theatrical, perversely heroic stunts which were sure to give the professor heart failure at some point. The man's worry had especially increased at the climactic end of the boy's last year in which he was unwillingly thrown into a world of stressful competition, had watched a comrade die, and was mercilessly barraged by the press for "lying". Such a thing couldn't be easy on the mere teenager and, ever since he discovered that Potter's home life was comparable to his very own, the man felt a vicious protective instinct be kindled and roar to life like a blazing fire in his gut.

After everything that had happened in the professor's grim life, involving his own abusive father, the constant torment so graciously provided by James Potter, and the death of his Lily, the man was undoubtedly hardened against the ways of the world. Severus was not a man acquainted to the irrational sway of emotion that led most people around like obedient sheep. He in fact despised the frivolous things, such as love affairs and meaningless family squabbles, that people were so engrossed in, yet right now, on this ominously cool evening, for the first time in fourteen years, his pure emotion made him take action. That first step out of his office and towards the direction of the Gryffindor common room is one he would remember for a very long time.

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_No one could love him, not a freak,_ and the very thought just made Harry cry harder. He sat there with his elbows on his knees and face buried deeply into his palms as if trying futilely to suppress the tears leaking out of his eyes. The boy ruthlessly examined everything he had been avoiding- Cedric's soulless eyes looking up at him accusingly, the intimate knowledge that his death was just the first of many, his uncle beating him senselessly...

He had yet to hear a curt voice speak the words "Nobility in Death", the portrait door swing open abruptly and a lone figure slink into the room with a carefully controlled reaction.

Lost so thoroughly in his thoughts, he did not even notice the couch under him raise slightly as someone sat right next to him, nor did he notice the soft cloth of a handkerchief press against his wet face, and he even had yet to look up to see a rare expression of unmitigated worry on a particular potion master's face. Sensing a radiating warmth, he leaned against whatever unknown mass had decided to perch itself to the right of him and he was not willing to think about the implications.

The professor quickly determined that the boy was under no physical pain. "Potter?" Severus inquired softly after a few minutes of placing a supporting hand on the boy's bony back. The man was utterly confused and didn't know what Potter was so upset about, yet, if he had to guess, it was likely that everything which had happened these past few months was catching up to him. After receiving no audible response, besides a slight shift in Potter's position, he quieted and waited out the storm.

Soon the boy's cries quieted to soft whimpers and stuttering gasps for air. Face red from frustration, Harry's taut muscles gradually loosened and his breathing evened out- Snape was surprised to find that the boy had been lulled to sleep. Carefully lying the worn out boy on the common room couch, he conjured a cozy afghan and draped it gently over Potter's thin shoulders. After that, he transfigured the boy's clothes into makeshift pajamas and quietly cast a sleeping charm on him that would alert the professor of when he woke up.

Sitting on a complimentary lounge chair right next to the larger couch, Severus eyed the boy wearily. Apparently his suspicions had been dead on, which didn't surprise the man, yet made him feel all the more concerned for the boy if it were possible that his rather stunted empathy was capable of such a thing. Aside from that, it was perhaps a minute relief that the Potter boy was able to go to sleep for the prominent bags under his eyes attested to many rather restless nights. Sighing with a deliberate slowness, the man ruminated on the one thing which remained a constant mystery in his brain which was, much to his chagrin, Harry Potter.

Severus watched the boy sleep intently, listening to the slow breathing which contrasted sharply with the discordant, harsh sounds of sobbing earlier. The grim man ruminated on the comfort he had readily offered the petulant child and how the boy even leaned in towards the warm contact during the fit. It was certainly an odd, out of place occurrence which he was sure he'd never live down if one of his colleagues-_ god forbid_- saw him. Nonetheless, it had still given him an odd warm feeling in his chest and he seemed to be getting on well with the boy these past few days.

The professor extended his arm and, with hesitant fingers, carded through the boy's tousled locks. The more he thought about it the more aware he was that the tenuous friendship they had crafted put Severus in an odd position- the man was a spy for Dumbledore against the Dark Lord and if he allowed this growing relationship to build than he risked not only himself but the boy as well. Furthermore, if he were to maintain any sort of regular contact with Potter than people would ultimately get suspicious and he would inevitably be exposed; even if he would survive or avoid the brutal torture the Dark Lord would readily subject him to, his worth as a member of the Order would be entirely diminished. It was settled then, he could not maintain contact with Potter. Thinking these grim thoughts, the professor could not contain the twisting sensation in his gut that made him sigh shakily to mitigate the pain.

Eyeing the boy, he realized quite abruptly that he wouldn't be able to do it. The man had irrevocably broken his ability to maintain a facade of apathy the moment he had taken that first step out of the potions' lab. Aside from his selfishness, the man would be damned if he allowed the boy's state to worsen due to improper care granted by any other adults in his life. Besides, if he chopped off contact with Potter, then the boy would completely lose whatever delicate stability he'd managed to build and his trust in adults would perhaps disappear forever. From the terrible mistakes in judgement that the Headmaster had made, through the atrocious care his relatives had provided, and finally to the blind-eye turned to him by the boy's professors, Severus would not make the same mistake that his colleagues made.

Snape straightened his back and allowed a protective growl to rise of out his throat, "I'm not going to allow anything to harm you further, you impudent brat." he promised in a hearty whisper. As he examined Harry's ashen face, thin frame, and red-rimmed eyes, he added, "That includes yourself."

After a few more minutes of relishing in determined silence, the man stood and walked out of the common room back towards the cool and infinitely more secluded dungeons.

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Woooh! Chapter 11 is done, son.


	12. Chapter 12

Diclaimer: I'm no JK rowling, son.

Warnings: maybe minor swearing, hints of abuse

Heyyy guys, thanks for all of your support! Anyways, these chapters have been going kinda slow (like seriously a day-to-day basis slow) yet they WILL speed up in time, don't worry! I'm building important story elements, bro. Deal with it.

I still want to know whether you guys want longer/shorter chapters that come later/sooner, so review if you care.

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_Phoenixes. Phoenixes everywhere. They swooped gracefully from perches in high off places, so fast and so delicate they all blurred into a spectacular show of colors. The dense canopy of leaves literally gleamed shades of violet, crimson, grass-greens and misty blues from the sheer amount of birds which caused reflective threads of light to hit the ground and curl into intricate Celtic knots._

_Entranced by the unbelievable sight and sounds, Harry stepped closer out of the misty planes from which he arrived. He had been travelling through the forest for a long, long time... with visions of wild magic and dragons and power and..._

_Shivering slightly at the amount of pure magic saturating the air, the boy was not the slightest bit hesitant to intercede into the intricate dance of feathers. The endless trills entangled and entranced him the closer he got, wrapping him gently in the gossamer fabric of their songs... It was The Call..._

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Harry woke up sweating and shivering in the early morning, thinking about the intensely vibrant dream sequence. It had been a few days since he'd had any dreams, yet it was not unlike the other vivid images that flickered in his mind over the summer. He was sure it had something to do with his hands, and the dreams had all been based within some sort of forest, if he remembered correctly, yet they were all so different in their imagery that it took a lot of effort not to dismiss them as random. Perhaps the only reason he did not turn a complete blind eye towards them was because Wrinkly the house elf had vaguely mentioned the dreams as a manifestation of his 'destiny'. Shuddering, he boxed the wayward thoughts about the vision and pushed them aside for later consideration.

Suddenly the boy realized he had just spent more than a day within the confines of the common room, and grimaced with surprise. Upon entering the Gryffindor tower, he had immediately tried to make his hands 'light up' unsuccessfully, by then he had been confronted by Wrinkly, eaten his food, napped, woke up, and then... and then... cried? Yes, he had cried rather hard. He frowned slightly before his eyes suddenly lit up in remembrance; when he had cried, he was almost sure someone came into the room for a while. Who, though? Had someone actually been there? Shrugging, he convinced himself that it was just his imagination. He didn't know if he'd be able to live down the embarrassment had that happened.

Feeling disgustingly slimy, Harry then proceeded to drag his trunk up the dorms, take a steamy shower, dress in his regular school clothing, and head to the library for some much needed distraction.

Heading out of the portrait door steadfastly, in his peripheral vision the boy just barely noticed a thin, gleaming white fabric. Turning his head slightly, he stared blankly at the damned thing draped carelessly on the corner table that was in the direct path of the sun's rays. If perhaps the table were not slanted at a such a perfect angle, and the piece of cloth not placed in such a prime location, then Harry would not have noticed and would've been happily-blissfully- and ignorantly unaware. Instead, his glasses were perched on his nose in such a haphazard way as to let him immediately notice that the piece of cloth was a handkerchief. A white, sopping wet handkerchief. Hard evidence that someone had in fact been in the very room while he was sobbing. If Harry had not believed before that something as small as a square of cloth could affect someone so much, he certainly did now. Searing hot mortification poured over him in concentrated waves, making his face burn with torrid heat. Someone had watched him cry, his mind repeated over and over again. The sheer vulnerability of the thought made his toes curl.

Who had been here with him? Surely it couldn't have been any of his friends, as they didn't have the means to get to Hogwarts without supervision. Sirius, Arthur, and Mrs. Weasley were all thankfully out of the realm of possibility too. In short, if anyone outside of the castle would've visited, then he would've been told so that meant that it was someone... someone already in the castle. Harry's face burned as he recalled distantly that Snape had said it was only "himself and Filch in the castle" right when he first arrived. Filch obviously was not a possibility either and if he had seen the boy crying than he would not have an inkling of care aside from being worried that the carpet was getting wet. That meant it had to be... Snape.

"What are you thinking?" Harry screeched out loud, a reluctant sensation of disbelief churning in his gut as he dug thrumming palms into his eyes. It couldn't be Snape, it just couldn't! He was a slimy, greasy git who'd sacrifice the boy in an instant if it meant he could get free Newt's eyes. Yet... the man did take good care of him over the past few days and, hell, he'd even offered to be the boy's shrink when he left the hospital wing. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Harry could not erase the picture in his mind of a foreboding figure looming over him, shooting scathing glares at him like projectiles, and taking a plethora of unfair points from Gryffindor. The idea was ludicrous, there was no possible way Snape would've willfully offered any measly crumb of comfort to him. Besides, what business would he have in Harry's common room in the first place?

Feeling relatively comforted by the thought, the teenager sagged slightly. Perhaps no one had been in the common room at all and it was all just his silly imagination. Before he could properly convince himself of this pleasant idea yet, his eyes drifted back to the handkerchief. Gulping, as if trying to swallow the remnants of embarrassment, he shielded his eyes and left the common room in a vain attempt to distance himself from the cloth that was branded eternally into his mind.

"Books, books, Library. That's what I want to do, right?" he whispered aloud to himself, trying ruthlessly to squash the lingering questions in his head.

Yes, he could easily find an explanation for his hands in one of the multitudes of books lining the high shelves. The house elves, if any of them besides Wrinkly knew anything, wouldn't give him any answers anyways. Surely there would have to be something in the library about it. And once he did find a hint of what he was looking for, he could fix it, then he'd go back to being normal. He could be a normal teenage boy, with normal hands and normal friends and normal teenage problems... Though, the problem has grown way past his hands, Harry noted uneasily; really calling it the 'hand problem' is a major understatement. What had only started out as a mere minor glowing in his palms had grown like an insidious weed, changing the very nature of his magic itself and attaching him to some sort of 'destiny', as Wrinkly had called it.

Although he despised it, this was not a situation he could run away from. Unlike his relatives and the handkerchief, there was no way to distance himself from this sort of thing. While he could stay away from his uncle, disappearing blithely in the minutiae of daily life at Hogwarts for nine months at a time, the things represented by his now-not-glowing hands were literally developing inside of him. It was an indispensable part of him for now, Harry noted with a shudder as he made it closer to the library. And what does this force of magic building up in him do to remind him of its presence? It thrums, aches and burns just underneath the flesh. **Constantly**.

If he could just make it all stop, well, that would be a dream come true. With that impossible hope in mind, the boy rapidly increased his pace, winding his way through familiar corridors with jeering portraits of ancient nobility, infamous poltergeists, and rather promiscuous Victorian witches. Distractedly, Harry noted that even though the hallways of the castle were ancient, and everything at very least was covered in a thin film of dust, they breathed remnants of the vitality of the former students. He had never truly noticed before how "alive" everything seemed; the stones themselves seemed to be embedded with something unidentified that resonated deeply within him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was comparable to the ache in his hands yet it wasn't painful; in fact it was very nearly a warm sort of comfort. Whereas the feeling in his hands was concentrated and harsh, the vigor of Hogwarts embellished the very air itself with a hint of some subtle magic...? How could he not have noticed something so obvious?

Shaking off the odd daydreams that collected like crumbs, the boy realized blankly that had had been standing at the library's entrance for a couple of minutes now. Stepping into the place, he zig-zagged through the shelves and sucked in the heady, rough scent of dust, old tomes, and polished mahogany. While he wasn't like Hermione, who would devour any book within a five mile radius, he could certainly understand the appeal of a quiet library. And he had this place all to himself.

Feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books, Harry decided to go to the mediwizardry section of the library. Obviously, the problem would have to be medical, right? It was small compared to the other genres because most of medical tomes were in the restricted section, lest some student as daring as they are stupid practice a healing spell and potentially disfigure themselves. Deftly sliding the book 'So Something Is Up With Your Magic: 101 Problems and Solutions', as well as multiple other quite cringe-worthy titles from the shelf, Harry settled himself in for some long reading.

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Snape awoke rather early in the morning, the sleeping spell he placed on the boy ringing in his ear quite loudly to warn him that Harry was awake. Massaging his temples and calming down his speeding heart rate, he contemplated for a moment the idea of immediately confronting the teenager yet ultimately decided against that course of action. It would, after all, be best to give the boy some time to collect his thoughts. Aside from that, the man didn't have the foggiest idea of how to talk to the Potter boy. He'd never really had experience talking to anyone with an air of guidance or empathy, except for Lily.

Instead, the man prepared himself a simple breakfast of slightly burnt toast with a smattering of butter before showering, dressing and flipping leisurely through a potions' journal in his private office. Yes, the afternoon would surely be the best time to confront the boy.

The time wiled away all too quickly for the man, and before he knew it the hesitant sun just barely peaking over the mountains had risen high in the sky. Sighing slightly, the man tidied his desk piled in half-written syllabuses, stacks of saved articles about theoretical uses of seaweed as a catalyst, and other papers of varying importance. Twenty or so minutes later, Severus soon ended up vapidly organizing his quills in a furtive attempt to stall. The man hastily realized what he was doing, and with a grimace, called out, "Dotty."

A green, slightly mustard colored house elf wearing a crudely sewn sheet popped silently into the room. "What would you like, sir?" the frail, yet vigorous, creature asked politely.

"Bring me Mr. Potter." Snape ordered, eyeing Dotty sharply.

The house elf was entirely oblivious to the rigidness of the man's stance and his tense, anxious voice, "Yes, sir!" he said, disappearing with a pop.

Sitting back at his desk, the irascible man awaited Potter's arrival with faint dread bubbling in his abdomen. He wondered what he would say to the boy, and he wasn't even aware if Potter had remembered that he was there last night. It would be quite the shock, the man noted with a diminished sense of sadistic glee. Still, it was going to be an unpleasant task prying away the stubborn child's secrets. In a final, fleeting moment the man pondered not confronting Potter about the fit he had; it would undoubtedly be the easy route yet he shook that thought away immediately because as a responsible, informed adult he could not just ignore a hysterical child.

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	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I'm not JK rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: mentions of abuse, minor swearing, etc

If Hermione could see him right at this moment, she would've been very proud. Knee-deep in a pile of unshelved books, Harry was cautiously flipping through a very old treatise on the subject of magical ailments. So old, in fact, that the amount of 'ye's and 'thou arts' made it quite difficult to follow. The other books surrounding him were perhaps just as old, if not older, and so dry that they made the desert look like the Hawaiian coastline. And why was this non-academically inclined boy searching through all of these obscure books on mediwizardry in a sickeningly Hermione-ish way? Well, that was a secret to everyone except for himself.

Clamping the treatise closed, Harry realized after the 145th 'ye' or so that the tome was hardly going to be of help to him. Embarrassingly enough, it had taken three chapters for him to realize that the book was not about 'hands' at all- it was about the musculoskeletal structure of animal familiars in the magical Middle East versus other regions.

Flopping the book carelessly on its spine, Harry sighed dramatically yet again. Nothing was helping him! He of course had realized that, having never heard in his lifetime of what was happening to him happen to anyone else, it was going to be quite the search to find even the mere footnote about his hand-problem... err magic problem? Dream problem? The fact that he was not even entirely sure what the real problem was, was in and of itself also a problem. His eyes fixated blankly on the ceiling and in his mind he remarked at how pretty the criss-crossing pattern was; they were like little lines incised into the vaulting and, upon closer inspection, the boy realized that there existed small, hollowed squares within the - wait! Harry shook himself, instantly becoming cognizant of how off track he was getting. He absolutely had to stay focused, if he didn't then... then who knows how bad his problem would get?

Jumping to his feet, he started putting books he'd already scoured for information away in their proper spot. Chewing his lip, he intended to reach over and grab for another heavy tome, yet the moment his hand lifted up the book flew obediently through the air and thumped hard against his chest. "Oof!" Harry said, almost tripping backwards, and grappling the book awkwardly before it could fall to the floor. He blinked, seeing the thing in his arms and wondering just how he had managed to...

Silly, he couldn't have done that. It's just not possibly that he summoned a book wandlessly and wordlessly; it was more likely that it flew to him on its own, right? He had seen books flying around by themselves during the height of the school year sometimes. He stood there, doubting his own hypothesis yet not outright denying it.

Standing still, with the heavy thing ensconced in his arms, Harry heard a nearly silent pop and small, pitter-pattering footsteps. Only a moment later, a greenish, cheerful house elf walked around the corner, "Sirs."

"Hello, who're you?" the boy asked curtly, "Do you need something?" he added, before setting the tome down onto the table he'd sat at for the last few hours. It was a moment before he realized to pull his sleeves over his hands, lest the house elf was like Wrinkly and could somehow see the glowing that was invisible to himself.

Dotty watched the subtle action, pinning his arms still with her gaze and appearing deep in thought before returning the boy's eyes politely. She had seemed to notice, yet didn't say anything about it, Harry noted uneasily. "Mines name is Dotty, Sirs, Mr. Snape says for me to brings yous to his office."

"What for?" Harry felt his heart drop into his stomach. Snape. Snape had seen him cry. He had seen him cry and he wanted to talk about it, or ridicule him, or... no, no need to jump to conclusions. Not yet.

"I don't know, Sirs." Dotty replied, extending an arm in a gesture meant to convey that they were going to apparate. Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry grasped the arm and, after being squeezed through a tube, appeared in the professor's office.

Dotty smiled, bowed to the two men, and popped out of existence.

The boy stared resolutely at everything besides Snape, trying without success to derive some sort of comfort from the cool, unsympathetic stone walls of the dungeons and the cupboards stuffed with potions ingredients.

The professor eyed the boy suspiciously. "Sit down, Mr. Potter, we have much to talk about." he ordered as suavely as he possibly could.

The boy obediently sat in the seat directly before the deep red, yet slightly brown tinted, desk. Distracting himself with the task of examining the carefully organized quills and papers on the desk, he had yet to notice that Snape was looking at him expectantly. "Mr. Potter," the professor said in his rich, infamous drawl, "Do me the courtesy of looking at me."

Begrudgingly, the boy peered at him with faintly red cheeks. "Sir? What is this about?"

Snape's eyes bored deeply into his own, skewering him like meat on a kabob. "I presume you haven't eaten yet?" he said, deflecting the question.

Harry had a sheepish grin on his face, breaking the tension between the two. "I had forgotten, sir."

"Daft boy," the teenager heard Snape mutter to himself, before leaving the room momentarily and arriving again with a full plate of biscuits and fruit. "Eat."

Warily picking up a ripe peach and nibbling into its surface, Harry shifted his gaze to a window that was slightly to the left of the glowering professor. It must have been an illusion, the boy noted, the dungeons were underground after all. Who'd have known the great bat would enjoy a view to the outside world?

"I've summoned you down here for a number of reasons." Snape interjected, breaking the train of Harry's thought effectively. "Mostly, to account for your rather hysterical attitude last night."

The boy narrowly missed biting down on his own tongue, and nearly choked on a haphazard bit of fruit that had been close to travelling down his windpipe. His face colored faster than an artist painting a blank canvas. Barely able to speak with the lump in his throat, Harry hissed, "I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do, Mr. Potter." the man retorted conspiratorially, hearing a sharp intake of air. "I want you to tell me what it was about."

Harry growled, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Well, I'm not going to. It's none of your business."

"None of my business? None of MY business?" Snape barked, feeling a rush of madness from the former enmity that existed between the two. "Hmm, how about you nearly dying when you arrived here? Is that none of my business? Maybe I should've just left you there, or better yet, carted you off back to those relatives of yours! They surely would've sympathetic to you, yet it isn't any of my business anyways. Just like how it isn't my business to heal your ungrateful hide or provide you with Nutrient Potions!"

Harry sat and listened to the endless harangue, viciously rubbing away the angry tears brimming in his eyes. "You didn't have to do those things. No one made you." he muttered with a quivering lip before adding more vindictively, "I didn't ask you to help me, anyways. I made it by fine on my own before, I sure as hell can make it by fine on my own now. No one's ever given a damn about me before, so why now?"

"Just like your damned father," the professor retorted acerbically, "Arrogant, ungrateful, not able to see how much people care about you..."

The boy clamped his ears with his hands obstinately, realizing bitterly that nothing had changed at all between him and the professor. The man was just as scathing and cynical as he always had been, and the last few days had been a rare yet false reprieve. It must've all been a ruse, or something set up by Dumbledore. He felt the acidic sting of anger zip through his spine and, in a fierce rage, yelled, "I'm not my father!" before storming out of the room.

Slamming the door with a resounding bang, he left Snape in utter silence. Calculatingly, the man considered going after the boy yet decided it was probably better to give him some space at the moment. There was no need to spend half the night trying to convince Potter of anything when he was like this and the time would be better spent bottling ingredients. With that thought in mind, the man went to work.

Adeptly, Severus gripped his scalpel and starting stripping away the soft leaves of an aconite plant. The longer he stood there, trying futilely to distract himself, the more prominent an emotion of stinging regret pierced him. He shouldn't have said half of the things he had said to the boy- hell, all of the things he had said to the boy. A burning feeling spread throughout his chest as he noted that he had carelessly brought up the boy's dead father in the heat of the argument; that was definitely not acceptable.

If he were going to be any form of guidance for the boy, he would have to control himself. The man wondered if such a task would prove impossible.

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Harry fled from the office as quickly as possible, hiding his burning face with one arm and clenching his fingers painfully against his thrumming palms. The sheer heat of his anger radiated out from him in waves, causing the foundations of the stones beneath him to rumble unnoticeably when he passed by them and the long, decorative rug on the stone floor to singe slightly on the edges. Barely even thinking, he just knew he needed to get out of the restrictive confines of the castle.

The boy summoned his broom and, before he knew it, he was up in mid air. His green eyes watered in contact with the wind as he zipped through the sky with incredible grace and speed. The broom arched obediently with each abrupt turn, making the jerky motions seem fluid and rehearsed as he shot downwards, upwards, and sideways. The daring rolls, leaps, dives and stunts all spoke of the skill and insipidity of a trained flier.

Soon his actions all seemed to blend into one big motion as time withered away like flowers in the wintertime. Seconds, minutes and hours were only marked by the sun's gradual descent across the sky, causing the bright afternoon to transition into a murky, pale orange dusk, and afterwards nighttime itself took over.

Shivering, exhausted and burnt out, Harry quickly became aware of how sore he was. His hands, having been clamped over the broom for hours, were nearly stuck to the surface of the wood itself and his back was throbbing smartly. The cool wind and constant motion made his ears ring uncomfortably and his head whirl, the boy noted with a grimace. Deciding to do a once over on the Great Lake and then curl up under some warm covers, Harry descended down to it and nearly skimmed his toes against the black waters.

It really was quite dark outside, and by now the surface of the lake was nearly indistinguishable from the grassy ground besides the faint glimmer reflected from the moon. Looking with a steady gaze at the impenetrably black water, the frail teenager ruminated about how creepy it looked yet he was slightly comforted by the thought that he had passed these waters a thousand times before.

With careless distraction, the boy shifted his thoughts back to what had happened in Snape's office. It was exactly because of this distraction, in conjunction with the hazy darkness of night, that Harry did not notice the large, tentacled appendage quickly approaching him before it was too late.

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hohohoho dramatic ending.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I'm not JK rowling and I make no money off of this, yo

Warnings: Minor swearing, maybe more?

Whoa, left the last chapter on a major cliff hanger. Sorry about that! Anyways, thanks everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed/etc. Estoy bien. It would also be reaaaally great if you all told me how you felt about thiiis chapter!

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It was strange, he'd never expected it to burn. One moment he was flying serenely over the water's edge and the next... well, he wasn't entirely sure. One thing he was sure of though was that something had hit his head, there was a stinging slap of frigid water against his skin, an overwhelming confusion and then the rapid onset of disorientation. The oppressively black water had claimed him, wrapping him in a sheath of cold and total darkness, until he held his breath for so long that the need for oxygen was the only thing he knew.

_Air!, air!, air!,_ his lungs and his brain and his blood cells screamed. _Air, air, air, air, air, air, air_; the singular thought occupying his mind was so resonant that he forgot what the very word meant, he just knew he needed it now. Responding to the overpowering command, he took a deep (and hopeful) breath despite the fact that he was intimately aware that there was no oxygen. Instead of refreshing, slightly cool sensation he had almost expected, there was it's antithesis- burning. Instantly, liquid fire scorched his windpipe and incinerated his lungs, causing him to scream and wretch uselessly into the void. He wouldn't be heard, not down here. The abyss was his only company.

For a standstill moment in time, as all conscious victims of some terrible fate tend to do, Harry had the all-encompassingly, bone-chilling question pervade his mind:_ Am I going to die?_ The boy started to struggle desperately but stilled for moment, and in the omnipresent blackness, where there was only himself and the things he'd been avoiding, a surprisingly honest question followed up: _Do I really care?_

He recoiled slightly, at first startled by the idea that he was depressed enough to kill himself. No, not kill himself- he wasn't suicidal! He just, well, he just wouldn't care too much if he did happen to die. It wasn't suicide at all, the teenager thought, it was death via inaction and that wasn't so bad. Yes, it wouldn't be a bad idea at all to just let himself float into the darkness, rapidly become so exhausted he wasn't aware of his surroundings... wasn't aware of himself, or of the terrible things he did, forget everything... forget Cedric... forget Voldemort... forget his hands... and just... and just... die. It sounded almost nice, actually.

Suddenly, whether it was because his brain was oxygen-deprived enough to start hallucinating, or the final fight-or-flight mechanism was kicking in, flashes of old memories flickered as if on a slideshow in front of his eyes...

_Kind brown eyes floated in space before him, "Yer a wizard, Harry."_

_"Give me the stone, foolish boy!" Devilish red eyes..._

_The sensation of warmth zipping down his arm and causing red sparks to shoot out of a newly-acquired wand; smiling,_

_"Curious, very curious" Eyes gleaming grey, crinkling around the edges..._

_Hermione and Ron and Neville and Luna... disjointed memories of laughter, sunshine;_

_"Freak, worthless freak!" a familiar voice screeched in his ear,_

_The scent of sterility and bedsheets, another voice, onyx eyes... "I don't know what foolish things those relatives beat into your head but you never have been, never were and never will be a 'freak'."..._

_"Not able to see how much people care about you, foolish boy..." Anger, more onyx eyes,..._

The boy wretched, trying futilely to choke out the fire in his stomach and lungs... the water was like a heavy weight on his limbs, pinning them in place... He didn't want to die, he realized. He didn't want to die at all; what would Hermione and Ron and Mrs. Weasley and Fred and Neville and everyone else do without him? They cared about him, and if he died because he didn't try then it was all his fault... If he died, then there was no purpose for Snape to stuff all of those expensive potions down his throat... People depended on him, god dammit!

If he died here would he never hear the sound of laughter again? Would he ever feel the sensation of sunshine on his face again? Did he really want to die without ever knowing what it was like to fall in love, or to go without hearing the funniest thing he's ever heard, or without thinking the most mind-blowing thought he'll ever think? No, no, no... he didn't want to die here. It wasn't worth it.

With the last burst of energy he had, he struggled with desperation against the water, only causing it to stir slightly around him. The boy screamed into the void, knowing he wouldn't get a response but hoping for it dearly, realizing he was getting nowhere... that it was useless... that death was imminent.

_No, no, no, no! Please, please! Life had only just started... I just got here... please, please... something, anything please.. help, help me.._ he pleaded, begging relentlessly for fate to lend him minuscule mercy. He choked, eyes closing the more he gave up, having the most intimate understanding of death he'd ever had. Funny how it wasn't Voldemort that ever made him feel so helpless before, it was merely water... He was too tired to struggle against the leaden weights on his arms and legs, too tired to hold his breath and soon too tired to think...

It was right before his eyes fully closed that he thought he saw something glimmering flash distantly before them; _Silly... there was nothing_. Unconsciousness crept up on him, ensnaring his mind rather quickly and finally giving him a little leeway before death would inevitably sink its talons into him, ripping his soul mercilessly from his body...

The last bubbles escaped from his mouth, causing the lifeless husk to sink lower and lower into the murky depths.

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Scratching with a busy quill onto a piece of parchment, Dumbledore hummed blithely to himself. It had been a very busy day, with the tensions between him and ministry causing quite the strain on obstructing the next uninformed political decision Cornelius had almost made, yet it was all over now. Sitting back in the plush red arm chair tucked behind his desk, the Headmaster finally relished in the rare relaxation he had allowed himself.

Everything was going well today; much of the staff, including Minerva, Fillius and Pomona had arrived for the rest of the summer to create their syllabuses and prepare for the students.

The man spun strands of grey beard with his wrinkly fingers and contemplated how interesting the summer had been. It had certainly been eventful, he conceded, with Harry having quite the entrance. Smiling sadly, he felt a harsh pang of guilt in his chest that he had allowed the innocent boy to stay in an abusive household. Just the term 'abuse' and 'Harry' thought in the same sentence made the man cringe slightly, and he wiped discreetly at the tears brimming in his eyes. Dumbledore was infinitely happy that the boy made it to Hogwarts before it was too late, and that he had been forgiven; what was really important was that Harry was safe, happy, and healthy.

Startled out of his thoughts by a rather insistent chirping, he looked with a confused smile at Fawkes. "Fawkes, what's wrong?"

The irritated phoenix squawked indignantly and ruffled his feathers, flying busily in circles and singing a discordant tune before disappearing out of an open window in a flash.

The Headmaster blinked, confused.

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A spark. A flash. Like someone lost in a blizzard trying to kindle a small fire with sticks. Warmth suddenly, and a flourish of brilliantly white light expanding rapidly throughout the water. It had started in his chest; a glowing mass making liquid warmth traverse through his veins and nerves, stopping briefly in his hands. The ball in his hands lit up with a shimmer of gold, making the formerly invisible tendrils fill up with the liquid light... and then a vaporous white spread out from the body and illuminated every corner of the lake with a wondrous glow.

Abruptly there was nothing and the thin line between life and death thickened inch by inch, until eventually the two concepts were so far from each other that they disappeared. A faint light shining dimly just past his eyelids. Red and gold feathers. A chirping. Water pouring out of his gut. And perhaps most significantly, the wondrous yet painful sensation of air. Pure, wonderful, brilliant yet still terribly burning AIR.

The light dimmed slightly and was then confined to a soft glow in his hands.

Shivering violently, the oxygen deprived, pale blue boy opened his blurry eyes. A bird... Fawkes?..nudged him gently, pulling a thick and warm wing over his frame. Harry grunted his thanks due to his inability to speak, comforted yet completely unaware of his surroundings.

He supposed it was over now, and somehow he had made it out of the water or he was dead. Either way, he was exhausted and warm so he allowed his eyelids to close softly. Breath evening out, before he could slip into sleep the damned bird nudged him again... rather hard this time! Fawkes squawked in his ear loudly and nibbled on his ear. "Ow... stop it..." he ordered ineffectually in a breathy whisper. Instead, the insistent bird ruffled her feathers further and suddenly made a booming song arise from his throat.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, ears popping painfully as the earsplitting sound echoed throughout the school grounds.

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Hunched over a table for hours, carefully cutting potions ingredients, Severus was thoroughly startled and dropped his tools with a clang when he heard a booming noise in his ear. Well, that was the second time this summer. What would be causing that at this late hour?

A combination of surprised and perplexed, the man stopped what he was doing and hesitantly followed the sound throughout the castle. Was it a warning of some sort? Perhaps meant to inform him of something? Severus furrowed his brow in consternation, the sound of his brisk footsteps like thunder claps booming through the hallways and his robes billowing ominously like black clouds.

Looking in his peripheral view, he saw a grim Minerva nod her head towards him as a way to say that she was 'equally as confused' and 'was going to follow the sound too'. They trod side by side in mutual silence, waiting for whatever verdict there was going to be. While many odd, unexplained things had happened throughout the history of Hogwarts, and it was a plausible idea that this sound could just be meaningless, there was a heaviness within it that made Snape feel uneasy and dreadful. It had something to do with the Potter boy, he could feel it.

Soon the song had led the pair outside of the castle and towards the lake edge. With squinting eyes, Severus examined the shore line that was hard to see in the darkness. One thing which stood out was the Headmaster's red and gold phoenix, Fawkes, that seemed to be crouched over a silhouetted figure. The man's usual composure withered away the closer he got, and despite the darkness of night, he felt his suspicions as to whom the figure was bubble in his stomach. He paled and his fast paced tread transformed into a full blown run the moment he saw a black, wet mop of hair contrasting with the Phoenix's bright feathers.

"Lumos Maxima!" the man nearly yelled, dropping to his knees on the marshy lake side and paling. Harry. It was Harry.

Grabbing for the boy's wrist and thanking whatever god there was for the faint pulse, he performed a variety of diagnostic charms and conjured large, warm towels. "Dammit, boy, what the hell have you gotten yourself into now?" he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

His heart dropped like a weight into his stomach as he wrapped Harry into a series of towels and got an even closer look at how pale and disoriented the boy was. Minerva, accompanied by a nervous Pomona and Fillius, soon stopped right next to him and there was a collective gasp, "Mr. Potter!"

Steadfastly ignoring the small crowd, Severus gently scooped the teenager into his arms and huddled him into his voluminous robes. He spun around towards the direction of the hospital wing, closely tailed by the generally affable Phoenix who was uncharacteristically worried about the small boy. While the professor had known Fawkes to be a bright, very companionable bird, he had never seen him this_ engrossed_ in the happenings of a student at Hogwarts. The other professors followed him grimly, shouting out exasperated and unanswered questions such as "What is he even doing here?" and "What happened?".

Harry looked up at the assembly of people, confused and more tired than he had ever been in his life. If he could just go to sleep...

"Mr. Potter, if you dare fall asleep than I personally promise you that I will make hell seem like an amusement park." a threatening, baritone voice whispered in his ear, startling him out of sleepiness.

Severus looked at the boy forebodingly. He was probably suffering from acute hypothermia due to being in the cold water for so long, and if he fell asleep... well, he might never wake up. The thought chilled the professor to the bone. "Well, don't just stand there! Cast heating charms, make yourselves useful!" he yelled to the procession of people.

Fillius jumped with a startled squeak and quickly cast charms on the boy as well as the surrounding vicinity, Pomona meanwhile scurried to the green houses in search for some plant remedy that would deal with the inevitable fever and Minerva transfigured more blankets for when they reached the Hospital Wing.

"Potter! Tell me, what's another name for wolfsbane?" Severus barked in Harry's ear.

The boy looked wearily at the man, feeling his confusion surge exponentially. "Wuhh..?" he inquired; was he in potions' class right now? Summer sure did go by fast... "Monkswood... monksweed? Nunplant?"

Soon they had reached the infirmary and the boy was gently laid onto a bed, still wrapped in now-wet towels. Minerva and Severus worked smoothly together; prying the towels away, transfiguring his sopping wet clothes into dry ones, stuffing potion after potion down his throat. It seemed nearly endless for the poor boy and meanwhile Fawkes watched the happenings with a rather protective gleam in his eye.

Shivering and too exhausted to be properly angry, they made the boy stay awake for hour after hour- watching him, piling blanket after blanket on him no matter how hot he said he was getting, slapping him awake and performing charms on him. All in all, it was an extremely unpleasant experience which he would not care to repeat. Throughout the night, he could've sworn he felt drops of warm phoenix tears on his forehead and, it may sound crazy, but sometimes, he almost felt as if he could... as if he could _somehow_ understand what the bird above his headboard was chirping? But that was obviously crazy and he reassured himself that it was all the medication he was getting.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I'm not JK rowling and I make no $ off of this

Warnings: minor swearing, mentions of abuse, etc, I'm pretty sure most of you already know by now

It had officially been eleven hours since he was dredged from the lake and, pepper up potion after pepper up potion, poor Harry had still felt more tired than he had ever been in his life. "Why can't I just go to sleep?" he asked with a combination of irritation and begging in his voice.

Snape, who had perched himself by Harry's side for the entirety of the night, regarded him with a dull look. "You, Mr. Potter, were suffering from hypothermia, if you go to sleep before the twelve hour mark you could die. On top of that, you were hit on that empty skull of yours and have a moderate concussion; we need you to stay awake for observation." the man replied scathingly.

Harry's eyebrow twitched in irritation at the insult, yet he said nothing for the moment. A few hours after he had made it to the infirmary, when he became aware enough of his surroundings, it seemed that everyone regarded him coolly- besides Fawkes who, for some reason or another, was keeping watch over him. "Why is everyone so mad at me?"

The professor shot a smoldering glare at him, "Because you were inept enough to fly on your broom, at nighttime, over the Great Lake where, lest you have forgotten, there is quite the irascible Giant Squid." he retorted, "And it almost got you killed, stupid boy."

Pouting, Harry realized that what he was saying had some truth to it. "I didn't think about it..."

"That's right, you didn't think!" Snape shouted, voice laced with anger as he stood and started pacing suddenly. "You never think! You always drag yourself into these insane, stupid, lamentable adventures without even stopping to think for a moment about the consequences! What if you died out there, hmm? Do you know what would happen to everyone around you?"

The teenager stayed quiet, nervously scratching out dirt from under his fingernails and discreetly eyeing the soft glow on his palms.

"Well, firstly, after a few days of being in the lake, in which time everyone would be searching frantically for you, your body would be full enough with carbon dioxide to float up to the water surface." The boy gulped, yet the professor just went on with the searing tirade, "Inevitably someone, perhaps myself, would find your partially-decayed, disgusting body and fish it out! Secondly, we'd have to tell your beloved friends and family that you drowned. Thirdly, a funeral would be conducted, and I'd have to sit and watch as everyone you love sobbed uncontrollably."

Guilty tears were now running down Harry's face. "That's right, you're a selfish, selfish boy." Snape jeered, "That dogfather of yours would be irreparably broken; he'd have nothing. You are a son to him and his only living connection to his best friend. Mrs. Weasley also regards you as one of her own and, inevitably, she would cry for months on end. Mrs. Granger? Mr. Weasley? Just how badly would they react? And how about the broom instructor, Madam Hooch, who didn't inform anyone not to fly over the Great Lake because it was supposedly so obvious of a thing? Just how much guilt would she drown in, so to speak?"

"You very nearly caused all of this to happen, you fool! You nearly made your mother's sacrifice be completely in vain! Your parents would've died for absolutely nothing, it would've been entirely meaningless! You... you throw yourself into these dangerous situations without even blinking and you have no regard towards other people..." Fawkes crowed, interrupting Snape's endless rant, while sitting on Harry's shaking shoulder. Comfortingly, he nibbled on strands of the boy's black hair and goaded him gently.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." the teenager whispered repeatedly, curled into a tight ball. Guilt rolled over him in tangible waves, as violent and implacable as a tsunami ripping up a coast. Fawkes looked up at Severus reprovingly, as if rebuking him for being so needlessly harsh.

Snape returned the look with a grimace, sensing his own words sink into his thick skin and progressively feeling more horrified by what he had said. Turning away from the boy, he examined himself nauseatingly. While he could not pretend that the boy hadn't done something stupid, he also could not pretend that the things he said were not equally as stupid._ I'm not cut out for this_, he thought, _I'm too much like my damned father_.

"Potter," he said to utter silence besides the boy's cries.

Nibbling on his gums uncharacteristically, the man steeled himself, "Ha-Harry?" he inquired in a near whisper. "Harry, look up at me." The mere show of emotion made Snape's gut twist.

Curiously, the boy peered at him with green eyes dulled with guilt. His gut wrenched itself into even more contorted positions. "I shouldn't have said those things to you." the man admitted, "I'm sorry."

"But they-they're true," the teenager sobbed, interrupted by hiccuping gasps at regular intervals, "and..and, my uncle was right, I'm just an ungrateful, worthless freak and.. and.. I sh-should've died with my parents and.." Fawkes dripped more soothing tears onto Harry's head, trying futilely to heal an injury which was not physical.

Severus felt a surge of anger at the boy's relatives, yet slipped the emotion away for later, "Stop that; what have I told you before? You're not a freak. You are just a boy, a boy who has the capacity for doing stupid things, yet a normal boy nonetheless."

"Then why did you say that to me?"

Harry stayed quiet and intent, waiting for an answer. In response, the man gulped and, letting go of his foolish pride, finally admitted, "I was angry, somewhat angry with you, yet more so angry at what could have happened." and then, after peering searchingly into the boy's eyes, added, "Listen, and listen closely, because I won't say it a second time: when I had seen you, I at first thought you had died, and I was more afraid then I've ever been in my life. You unknowingly subjected to some of the worst emotions I've had in years, and I took out on you. I was wrong, of course, but I... I care about you, daft boy."

Harry blinked, opening and closing his mouth as if intending to say something yet halting. "Okay." he replied simply, gaping with a baffled expression plastered on his face. Fawkes, meanwhile, trilled happily and flapped his wings excitedly.

Snape turned his head the other direction, feeling mildly embarrassed and sickened by his prompt show of emotion. "Astounding impression of a fish you're doing," he retorted at Harry's look, before performing some final diagnostic charms on the boy and telling him he was able to sleep now. "I've put some spells around the bed which should warm me if you are in trouble, have awoken, or, for whatever reason, have left the hospital wing." he informed with a lingering threat in his tone before spinning on his heel and exiting the Infirmary dramatically.

Harry sighed gratefully and flopped onto his stomach. Pulling warm covers around himself, Fawkes promptly jumped from his shoulder to the headboard. "You gonna stay there?"

At his excited twittering and a few flaps of his wings, the boy decoded with ease that the phoenix meant 'yes'. In his tired and deluded mind, he did not find it fit to question how the bird knew what he was asking.

For the first time since he had been alone in the past twelve hours, Harry glanced side to side suspiciously to check if anyone was around and then examined his hands. Apparently, the glow had returned for some unknown reason and it had grown too. He vaguely remembered being in the water and then some sort of overwhelmingly bright light had surrounded him where the blackness formerly was. And after that... after that... he had just appeared on the coast, breathing and still alive. Could this thing that was happening to him be the wish magic he'd heard Dumbledore speak of the last time he was in the Hospital Wing, whatever that meant? Or could it be something else? Furthermore, what is the 'old magicks' that Wrinkly refers to and how does it relate to his hands? Finally, was it a force of good because it had saved him or was it dangerous because it had the potential to hurt others with its staggering power? One thing was certain to the boy: he could not, under any circumstances, let anyone find out about it. They'd try to harness the power for themselves or, god forbid, expose him as a freak. The mere thought made him shudder.

Thinking back towards the appearance of his hands, he saw that while the glow had been invisible to himself after he had wished it so, the tendrils of light that had been curling around his wrist had since grown and looked as if they were going to develop further into an intricate pattern. Right now the glow was rather dim and his hands did not ache with the feeling of constrained power, he supposed this was because the more magic he used the less that 'filled up' his hands were. Sort of like emptying a pitcher of water and the pitcher becomes lighter except that he always refills his hands with more magic.

Too tired to go along with that train of thought or notice that Fawkes was staring at him with an odd gleam in his eye, the boy seen drifted off to sleep. Similar visions of phoenixes, forests, and destinies had plagued his dreams.

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The summer is going to start going faster after this chapter, I promise! Thanks to everybody who reviewed and more reviewers are always welcome.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, I make no money off of dis

Warnings: not really any...? that's a very loose warning

I would definitely love it if you would review. Yes, specifically you. With the blonde hair.

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After the few sluggish, terrible days that Harry had stayed the hospital wing, punctuated only by the random visits his concerned friends had made, the boy was (thankfully) released from the infirmary. For the second time in a month. More impressively, the second time with only an interval of three days. One more visit and he'd of set a Hogwarts record. The boy thought he'd have surely gone insane if he spent another moment in the "prison" and it was with only barely restrained happiness that he managed to get out.

During his stay, Hermione had given him his annual lecture about the importance of safety whilst broom riding. Even more astoundingly, she had compiled various bits of data and organized it into a rather comprehensive report about the dangers of brooms. Harry accepted it with a placating grin and supposed that this was the girl's way to show that she cared.

Ron, on the other hand, had watched the interactions with raised eyebrows while nervously tittering throughout the whole ordeal and, at the end of the visit, clapped a relieved hand onto his shoulder and ordered rather seriously, "Don't do that again." For Ron, who, as Hermione put it, "had the emotional range of a teaspoon", this was rather dramatic (practically an admittance of undying love). Meanwhile, Harry felt guilty unease about putting his friends through everything that had happened to him; firstly at the end of last year during... during the tournament, then making them worried about him being beaten to a bloody pulp, and finally worrying them about him nearly drowning.

Grimacing, the boy remembered how the guilt he had felt got even more severe when Sirius had come to visit him. The man had unexpectedly appeared out of the floo-station from the far end of the Hospital wing and stormed dramatically towards his bed. He then proceeded to yell at some length about how "stupid he was" and how he had worried the man to death; this contrasted so much with Sirius' usual carefree, mischievous personality that never seemed to mind what trouble Harry got himself into, that the boy was sure he had been dreaming. After the long, winding rant, the man then proceeded to wrap Harry in a bone-crushing hug and ruffle his hair, all while saying, almost exactly as Ron had said, "Don't do that again."

The guilt made him eagerly about to convince himself it was all a long, strange dream. The strangeness of it was was made even more extreme by the odd refusal of Fawkes to take one wing out of the hospital wing while the boy was there in conjunction with the odd visions he got in his sleep. He couldn't take one short nap without seeing the infuriating phoenixes, forests, or destinies. The most annoying thing was probably that the dreams were getting nowhere... they showed him the same vision of swooping birds everywhere, and he knew that what he was looking for so fervently was just a little bit further into the procession of birds, yet whenever he got any closer the dream abruptly ended. Yes, his second stay in the hospital wing had certainly been odd.

If Snape had not seen it fit to remind him that in fact was not a dream, then the boy may have actually successfully convinced himself that it was. It had been a slow week he'd stayed in the Infirmary and the many long lectures he'd been subjected to made him sure that the words "stupid" and "reckless" would ring in his ears forever.

He supposed he should be happy that he had not stayed any longer, as Dumbledore had informed him that he would've been stuck in the place many more days if Fawkes had not cried healing tears on him and prevented him from having a bad fever after the hypothermia, but he just didn't know if he could muster up the enthusiasm. It had been quite tiring to have to constantly pull his long infirmary pajama sleeves over his hands abruptly whenever someone was around him and he was in perpetual terror that Snape would find out about the glow.

Now that the light had returned, he'd have to find an effective way to mask it at will. Time to go back to the library, in other words, and that turned out to be an apt description of the next two weeks of his summer.

A pattern of studying, being bored, and a resultant frustration had emerged quickly. No matter how hard he searched he found absolutely nothing out about his hands, the dreams, or the destiny and 'old magicks' Wrinkly had spoken of.

As a last resort, he had taken to finding the house elves for any tidbit of information he could find and besides the vague mutterings of "having to get back to work" they were tight-lipped. After the first three house elves he had found told him the same thing, he knew he would get no answers from them and besides, it would a huge risk to tell them about his situation when they could potentially tell others. He had quickly resumed taking to the books again and the occasional broom-ride to clear his mind (obviously staying as far away from the Great Lake as he could get).

The only positive things were the odd yet pleasant visits he got from Fawkes sometimes, who seemed to have "taken a liking to him", in the words of a twinkly-eyed Dumbledore. At least when September 1st inevitably rolled around, the boy could boast that he knew the entire etymology of the word 'flour' no matter how useless such a tidbit of information was. He'd of rather found a way to hide the glow in his hands, of course.

That said, it was a modestly warm, unassuming August 17th when he finally found the answer to his problems. Fawkes had been resting on his shoulder as he leaned over the third book he'd skimmed through in the hour; it was getting dark and he was tired so, dozing slightly, he would've missed the one thing that could help him if the bird hadn't chirped in his ear. Trusting the astuteness of the phoenix's judgement, he looked more closely at the page and stared open mouthed at the one word which stood out among the rest.

"Glamour." he whispered reverently, lapsing into silence and then slapping a hand onto his forehead. "Of course! How could I have not thought about it!" It was perhaps the most obvious solution, and for the many days he'd been trapped up in the library the idea had not even crossed his mind.

"You're the greatest, Fawkes!" he said, ruffling the bird's feathers thankfully. Receiving a warm, appraising glance, he set out to work. The boy visualized and practiced the particular incantation, finding the most effective site at which to cast the spell. With a thoughtful look, he quickly decided that it was easiest to cast at his wrist and wait a moment as the glamour would seep through the tendrils, making its way to the ball of light and then towards the other tendrils curled around his fingers. Grabbing his wand and incanting the spell multiple times until he was reasonably assured he could do it well, the boy sauntered out of the library with a giddy grin and normal looking hands.

Looking towards the bird perched comfortably on his shoulder, he waited for him to fly back towards Dumbledore as per usual. They had developed a schedule that consisted of the bird supplying him company during the long hours he spent in the library and then leaving when he about to settle in his common room. After a moment in which the two looked at each other quite plainly, Harry asked, "Do you wanna stay with me for longer?"

The bird gazed at him with a look of concession, and the boy nodded his head in response. It was strange how the pair had devised a method of effective communication between each other, especially this quickly, and with only the use of body language and eyes. If the boy did not know any better, he would've said that it was almost a telepathic connection. Equally odd was how quickly their friendship had developed, and he found himself theorizing that Fawkes' strange liking towards him had some parallels to the dreams he was having and his hands. Firstly there were phoenixes in his dreams and now there was a phoenix following him around like a lost puppy? It couldn't be a coincidence. Aside from that, has wand has a phoenix feather for a core. The boy was quite certain that all of this evidence tied in together, yet how it did was a still a complete mystery.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that whenever the bird was around him, it was almost as if his hands... calmed down? They didn't ache so harshly, in other words, and his magic seemed to be more... under control. He knew that phoenixes had soothing effects, yet it had never effected him before to the extent that his very magic reacted in a different way to the special birds.

Walking towards the Gryffindor tower, Harry relished in the sound of his lonely footsteps echoing throughout the entire castle. For the first time in weeks, despite everything that had happened, he was able to breathe in the gritty scent of the stone walls and let a sort of tenuous peacefulness fall over him. _It was going to be alright_, he reassured himself, not willing to think about how wrong that statement could possibly be.

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Wooo chapter done.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed/ favorited/followed/ etc. I've just made it to 100 follows, so you obviously are all the most amazing human beings on the face of this earth.

If you have questions you want to ask, go ahead and do so in the reviews. I will reply to them if it doesn't compromise/spoil the plot! Also, constructive criticism/praise/burning hatred are all welcome.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I'm not JK rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing, mentions of abuse, angstmode2001

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After having a long, wonderfully dreamless slip into unconsciousness for the first time in weeks, Harry had awoken feeling quite cheerful on the warm August day. Smiling uncharacteristically wide, the boy got up while reapplying a glamour onto both of his hands and flexing them, feeling a semblance of normalcy wash over him as he did so. His problem didn't seem quite so bad anymore now that it didn't stare him in the face and, for now at least, he could pretend that everything was completely fine. At that thought he smiled even wider, if such a thing were possible.

It seemed that today would finally be a good day, seeing as how the news of his impromptu hospital wing visits had blown over and he could take a much needed break from the library. He knew he needed to get back soon and investigate further about the cause of the glowing, but for right now his top priority of hiding the glow from curious eyes was fulfilled.

Silently thanking Fawkes, he shuddered as he thought about how he could have been staring at pages and pages of text for much longer had the bird not chirped in his ear to warn him. He was nearly certain that he had been in the library for so long that images of words had been burned on his cornea permanently, and to think that he could have been stuffed up in there for any more days had him faintly terrified. Packaging those wayward thoughts away for later, the boy started to get ready.

Showering, dressing, and nonchalantly eyeing his untamable mop of hair in the mirror, the boy soon stepped out of the otherwise empty dormitory and down towards the common room. He was promptly greeted with a house elf carrying a platter of food that was resolutely trying, yet failing, to do anything but stare straight at his hands.

"Thank you," Harry said tightly, the tone in his voice implying that he would like the little creature to leave now. Surely it had spread throughout the house elf community in Hogwarts, if not elsewhere also, that there was something going on with his hands and the thought had him faintly worried. It was entirely possible that they could tell someone, if not their masters, then Dumbledore who was the next closest thing. The boy knew he needed to find away to keep them quiet because if his secret about the glowing hands got out then... well, he didn't dare let his mind wander down that train of thought.

Scrunching up his eyes momentarily in thought, the boy then reconsidered wanting the unnamed house elf to leave, "Excuse me, could you stay for a moment?" the creature looked hesitant, so sneakily Harry added, "There is something I would like you to do for me.", knowing that such a combination of words would make the little guy excited to fulfill his needs.

"What is it, Sirs? I would do anything fors yous, sirs!" the glassy-eyed elf replied with a wide grin.

Leaning down to his height, Harry grinned back, "I know you know about my hands and this 'old magicks' thing, whatever that is," he informed, watching the elf fidget slightly, before adding "I also know that you won't tell me about it, and I respect that, yet I was wondering if you could tell all other house elves that under no circumstances are they allowed to let my secret out? If it does get out then really, really bad things could happen."

The palpable anxieties laced in Harry's words was enough to make the creature shudder and, even though he didn't understand why terrible things could happen if the boy's secret got out, he respected the wish. Nodding so hard that his overlarge ears flapped against his cheeks, the house elf looked at the teenager with wide eyes, "Of course, Sirs!" he replied, popping away for a gleam of purposefulness in his eyes.

Harry sat back and started digging into his food, some of the tension that in his shoulders draining away. "Just a little bit of luck and everything will be fine," he whispered aloud, not willing to think about what would happen if his secrets were exposed. With a shiver, he realized that when it inevitably got out and was leaked to the press, they would be especially ruthless. Already haunted by the constant drivel spouted by the Daily Prophet, he could only imagine what sort of twist they'd spin on his glowing hands... all of the looks he would get...

Feeling queasy at the mere thought, the boy sat back and let his fork clatter to the dish sitting on the stout table in front of him. He rubbed his eyes and peered with a penetrating gaze at his now normal-looking hands. Harry was intimately aware that it was just a facade, that just right underneath the flimsy glamour lied the most damning, perhaps irreparably life-changing thing to ever happen to him. It was the very essence of his freakishness, even though he wished dearly that it wasn't. _Freak, freak, freak, freak, freak._.. he could hear the word now bouncing tangibly in his skull with the voice of none other than Vernon Dursley.

When his uncle had first called him a freak, it didn't affect him too much because he'd been hardened by the years of harsh monikers of the man. Harry believed very firmly that the man was a liar and that obviously was confirmed when Hagrid had told him he was a wizard, something his uncle had concealed for the boy's entire life.

But now... now everything had changed, there was proof now of his freakishness. Bad things just seemed to happen to him and everyone around him. It was truly right after he saw the lights of awareness in Cedric's eyes dim that every word the man had ever said to him in loathing had condensed and grew into an indestructible ball of tar pitted in his chest. Every day there was more things to add to that ball that resided just a hair above his stomach, and the meaningless word 'freak' had since gained a weightiness previously unknown to Harry.

The boy recalled vividly when he arrived at the Dursely residence just this summer. The moment he stepped into the door of a place that he knew he was entirely unwanted, where the residents couldn't care less about his life or death, a transformation had occurred.

"Worthless freak," he remembered hearing Vernon mutter as he shoved his way past Harry, as per usual, yet the gleam in his eyes spoke volumes of hatred the boy never noticed up until that point. Like a heavy dumbbell had just dropped from ten feet up on him, he finally noticed the ball of tar in his chest. He had for the first time in his life understood and agreed with what his uncle was saying.

With a lump in his throat, the boy had stopped in the middle of the kitchen and then fully realized why the man hated him so much. He was a freak. He had taken away the man's ideal of a perfect family life with a normal wife and a normal child. He was this black spot that caused all of Vernon's problems. He was essentially a ball of tar.

Shaking himself from his musings lest he get too upset, it was right then that a bird with familiar red and gold plumage flew into the common room and perched on the boy's shoulder. Harry blinked, not expecting the prompt arrival yet feeling vaguely cheered nonetheless. Recently it had seemed that the bird, who was obviously Fawkes, always knew when the boy was stressed or sad. "Hey there," Harry greeted with a mirthless smile, sniffling a little bit.

Fawkes squawked anxiously, wanting to know what the problem was while nibbling on strands of the teenager's messy hair. "It's nothing, really." the boy said, dodging the annoyed flap of wings from the bird, before adding, "Honestly, I've been worrying over absolutely nothing a lot recently."

Ruthlessly quashing the odd desire to confide in the phoenix, Harry squirmed while Fawkes preened him and curled strands of his black hair with his beak. He swatted playfully at him and the bird chirped in indignation. Savoring the resultant quiet peace between the two, Harry dug back into his food with gusto and it was only a few short minutes before a letter popped into thin air before him.

Blinking, he grasped the letter and struggled to read the harsh cursive strokes on the page.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I would like you to see me in my office at around 2:00 pm. Don't worry, you're not in trouble (yet); I just wanted to see how you are doing. If you do not show up, I'll assume you are busy._

_Professor Snape_

Harry grinned slightly, tucking away the note in his robe pocket and wondering what the upcoming meeting could be about. While the man could be easily angered and quite scathing at times, his witty humor more then made up for it whenever it wasn't aimed at him.

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By the time he had gotten back from Snape's private offices it was nearly 7:00 pm and he already felt beat. While it had been a mostly amicable conversation, starting with what he's been doing the past two weeks as well as how he his friends were, the topic had soon veered into unmapped territories.

Things had gotten quite tense when he slyly brought up the Durselys and at seeing how closed Harry was getting, the man settled for asking, "Have you told your friends of the time you had spent with your relatives this early summer?"

The boy remembered pursing his lips and looking distantly at a place that was a little left from the professor's inquisitive eyes, "Not yet." he had replied vaguely with a faint frown on his face.

At the professor's slightly disapproving grimace, Harry gripped the delicate cup of raspberry flavored tea much harder before cautiously perching the warm liquid on his lap. The boy shuddered with a rapidly darkening expression on his face, staring deeply into the swirling red liquids, "Can't I have a little more time? Not yet. I can't do it yet. It's impossible; every time I tried to tell someone before the words just get stuck in my throat and I... I forget."

Snape paused briefly, circumventing his desk and closing the space between himself and the boy. "You weren't so quiet when I first asked you about it."

"That was entirely different," Harry retorted sharply, head jerking upwards with a defiant spark. "I wasn't in the best state of mind, anyways."

"I'm forcing you to do anything you do not want to do, Potter, but sooner or later if you do not tell this information to the right people then your friends and certainly the press will become suspicious of your reasons for staying in the castle for such a long period of time." the professor advised at the dubious look on the boy's face.

They stayed silent for a while as the man gathered his breath, tucking his arms into the folds of his robes, "Your godfather has been asking me many questions about you," he said, before adding at the faintly terrified expression on Harry's face, "I have told him nothing, as I have promised you, yet he has been digging up information from various sources and sooner or later he will find out before you have the chance to tell him."

"And what about the Granger girl? She's may be a know it all yet she is also an extremely perceptive ally who will not stop at anything to know what exactly it was that had hurt her friend." the man went on, "Surely Mr. Black and that girl would make a formidable team."

He stayed silent, chewing on the soft gums of his inner cheek and waiting for whatever rational, yet painful, argument the professor was going to bring up next. Lapsing into silence, it was a moment before a voice deep with loathing made him look up, "I want those people rotting in Azkaban, Potter. I, as well as many others, want them to pay for what they have done to a mere child."

Harry opened his mouth calculatingly, wondering just how to word what he was going to say, "It wasn't that bad, honestly. It hurt emotionally to be called some of the things I was called, and it hurt to get the occasional slap. They... abused me a little bit," the boy shivered at the word before continuing, "if that's what you want to call it, but not too bad and it barely qualifies as that anyways. They don't deserve to have their family ripped apart because... because..."

Snape turned and clenched his fists, not trusting himself to speak quite yet. It had already been proven ineffective to describe in detail to Potter the abominable state that he had arrived in, with a nearly decimated skull and welts lining his back.

"I hope one day you are able to see how wrong you are." he whispered, plopping back into his desk and organizing papers in order to busy his hands that were physically itching for revenge against that family.

With a rather fragmented goodbye and the firm promise the professor had made to meet him again, Harry had left the rooms eagerly while hearing some choice parting words: "Please just consider telling your friends, if not for your benefit then for mine. They wouldn't think any less of you because of it."

After that he had, of course, made it back to the common room without any incident. No matter how much he had wanted to deny it, the man's words had shaken him and would stick with him for a very long time. Inevitably someone would find out what Vernon had done to him, which was made very clear to him, yet he could have at least denied the thought for a while longer. _But no.. the professor just HAD to bring it up, just HAD to add more stuff to the list of things he'd have to get done_, the boy thought angrily. Perhaps Snape had a point though, perhaps he should actually tell someone.

The thought made Harry queasy.

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eep, I sorta rushed the chapter. Sorry if it has mistakes or it isn't 'up to standard' but I hope you all liked it nonetheless.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing, mentions of abuse,

Hello everyone! Thanks to all of my reviewers, followers, favoriters- you are all amazing. I'm flabbergasted. Someone should tell me because I'm not quite sure how to reply to you all... I try to reply and I send off a message yet I don't think that works? Anywho, here we go...

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It had taken three days. Three pain-staking days to finally come to a conclusion. Three days spent nervously weighing the pros and cons and three nights spent peering sleeplessly at the stone ceiling from his four-poster bed. Finally, three quills snapped in frustration and three dozen times of nervous pacing later, the boy knew that now was certainly not the time for indecision.

After looking blankly at the formidably large mahogany door in front of him for at least five minutes, Harry gathered his courage and knocked meekly on its surface. He clasped his fidgeting hands behind his back and waited for the deep, baritone voice to say: "Come in."

Steeling himself, the boy expanded his chest with air in a show of false bravery and cautiously pushed the door open to greet none other than Professor Snape. The man raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Harry momentarily, before looking inattentively back down at the papers strewn across his desk and dipping his quill into a bottle of black ink.

Harry shuffled his feet, thinking that with each step he took he grew more unable to turn back and run. _You still could_, his mind said, _you don't have to do this_. He shook his head imperceptibly as if trying to wave off a pesky fly because rationally he knew that this was the only way out- that if he walked away right now the things he had been avoiding would still happen, if only perhaps more slowly and a lot more painfully. It would be much better if he could have this happen cleanly, quickly and then just be able to sweep it under the rug.

He felt the cold air slide down his throat and make his stomach curl. "I think it's time to tell them," the boy said almost inaudibly but with a steady voice nonetheless, before adding more loudly, "My friends, I mean, about... about what happened this summer before I got here."

Snape had his quill poised strategically above a piece of blank parchment and turned his head up slowly to greet the boy, not caring that steady drops of black ink were pooling onto the crisp page. Harry watched the ink expand as it was absorbed by the paper, somewhat surprised that the man who was always so precisely calculated in his movements let his shock cloud his need for precision. He'd never seen Snape let even a dot of ink splash onto a paper before, the boy realized with a shiver. His essays, always scratched and dribbled on, contrasted so sharply with the harsh cursive strokes that the teacher left on them every time they were handed back. Although it was such a small thing, Harry understood that the man letting a perfectly good piece of parchment go to waste was a statement of how much this affected him. Whether this was a good or bad sign, the boy did not know yet.

The professor straightened his back and gestured to a dining chair just before his large, intricately carved desk, indicating that they should talk more in depth about this. Snape's eyes bored heavily in his with an undisguised light of approval, "I am glad you have taken my advice. This is a step in the right direction, Potter." he described aptly, "Just whom are you going to tell now about the abuse?"

Harry's shoulder jolted uncontrollably in air at hearing the word abuse, yet he pretended as if it hadn't. "Hermione, I think. Not the others just yet."

"Ah, I see, just why not?" he queried with a softened tone, "How do you think the others would react?"

Harry shuddered, whether it was due to a sudden gust of chilly dungeon air or the question itself was debatable. "I will, in time. I care about everyone and I don't necessarily favorite Hermione over them or anything, but I just don't know how they would deal with it..." he trailed off, voice crumbling in a breathy whisper, "It's just extremely embarrassing to let everyone know what happened 'cause, it's hard to tell people... cause... I don't..."

His lower lip quivered and he took a deep, trembling breath in an attempt to reign in his emotions. "I don't want the world to know that no one loves me," Harry whispered while shutting his eyes to keep the tears at bay, "that I'm virtually unlovable. That I'm a freak."

It had happened so fast that, at first, the boy didn't know what had occurred and before he knew it, firm arms had wrapped around his shoulders and his chest heaved. "_Don't say that_," the professor hissed threateningly in his ear, "If I ever hear you saying that again, I will not hesitate to assign you two weeks of detentions."

Harry bit his tongue, trying to hold in his sobs. The man had already seen him cry once, there was no need for it to happen a second time. "Don't you dare believe what those damned slugs have told you," he ordered, "They are the freaks for daring to hurt an innocent child, you did not deserve such treatment and you're deluded if you truly believe that you are unloved."

The boy dug his face into the man's shoulder, trying to smother his wrenching tears. "Okay," he replied noncommittally, "Okay."

They stayed like that for a while until the professor finally pulled away with a grunt and infinitesimally reddened cheeks at the show of emotion. He then proceeded to guide the boy up from his seat and lead him to a comfier, couched area with an ornate red rug and a dark wood bookshelf lining part of the wall. Snape took the chair directly adjacent to the boy, still in a position where he was close enough to provide more comfort if it were needed.

Harry took copious amounts of tissues from a box on the end table to his left and buried his red face in them, partially to hide his growing embarrassment and partially to hide his tears. He ended up crying again in front of the man for what seemed like the hundredth time- why was it that he could squeeze this reaction from the boy? The harshest words spouted in potions class did nothing to affect the boy yet the simple kindness of telling him that he was in fact loved made him sob like a baby. It was counter intuitive and frankly very worrying for him.

"When are you planning to speak to Mrs. Granger?" the professor interjected with a tone that was considerably warmer.

Harry pieced himself back together, crumpling the tissues in his sweaty palms. "Uhh," he stammered, "tomorrow or the day after probably."

The man nodded with a harsh jerk of the head, "The sooner the better."

The boy swallowed in response and straightened his back, "I know I didn't have to tell you all of this but I was wondering if you'd..." he muttered, pausing briefly in the middle of the sentence, "If you'd maybe wanna be there with me when I tell her?"

Snape leaned backwards, startled by the proposition, and stared dubiously at the boy. Potter wanted _HIM_ to be there while he told Granger? What for; could it be he was expecting him to tell the girl?

"It's okay if you don't want to, I'm sorry, it was stupid..." the boy looked down at his lap, recoiling at the man's seemingly lackluster response.

Suddenly the professor realized that Potter was looking for comfort. From him. From the 'greasy git'. From his most hated potion's professor. The idea startled him further into silence as he thought about the implications; very firmly ignoring the warmed feeling in his chest, he pondered just how much their relationship had changed throughout the summer. The fact that their bitter rivalry of five years, starting with the first step the boy had taken into his classroom, had since ended in the span of a few weeks, left the man in awe. He blinked and cleared his throat unusually tight with emotion, "You misinterpreted my reaction," he said, "I in fact would not mind being there to provide support for you as I understand that you have gone through a rather harrowing experience."

Harry smiled grimly, feeling less dread simmering in his gut that at least there'd be someone cool headed to make sure Hermione wouldn't react... however she'd react. While he knew she was a great friend, he didn't know how she'd feel knowing that he has concealed this for years and that... that he was not wanted. _Of course you are_, an unfamiliar voice denied in his mind.

"I think I'm going to write her a letter now." the boy said in an implied goodbye, swiping discreetly at his eyes and getting up from his seat. "I'll floo you when I have the news."

Snape nodded, laying a firm hand on the boy's shoulder until he made it out of the door, "Goodbye, Potter."

The moment he had stepped out the door, Fawkes came sailing through the air and landed on her usual spot- his shoulder. Enthusiastically greeting the bird, Harry then made his way to a classroom that, excluding the large desk with spare pieces of parchment tucked into one of the drawers, was rather empty.

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After coating the floor with crumbled balls of parchment, Harry finally settled on a vague, yet pleasant letter. Meanwhile, Fawkes flew lazy circles over his head.

_Hermione,_

_Hey! I'm writing this letter to ask you if you'd like to come to Hogwarts on Saturday and hang out. I would really like to see you, it's been lonely without a walking encyclopedia being within a five mile radius of me and I'm sure you'd like to explore the completely empty library. There are some things that I want to talk about with you._

_Harry_

He folded the letter very precisely in half and tightly rolled it into a stout scroll. Holding the thing very firmly in his palms, he grabbed a full roll of twine and headed off to the Owlery to visit Hedwig.

All too soon he had made it there, greeted by the musky smell of owls and a scenic view of the Hogwarts grounds. As his eyes wearily followed the sloping, lush green hills he thought about what he was going to do. He supposed this was a defining moment in his life, seeing as how he was consciously choosing to confide something this serious with someone other than himself. Whether or not this signified the end of his hurt or the beginning of a very long struggle, Harry did not know. And he was utterly terrified of it- of not knowing what could happen, or what it meant for him and others.

"I'm scared Fawkes." he whispered, the words spilling forth from his mouth seemingly without control. He felt surprised he had said that aloud but the words, spoken so quietly yet so firmly, seemed to fade and ride over the misty hills in the distance. "I don't know what to do. I'm in the dark here." he added, referring to more than just the upcoming meeting with Hermione while eyeing his hands.

The bird snuggled closer to the boy's shoulder, turning his head slightly to nibble on Harry's ear comfortingly. "I don't know if 'Mione is still going to want to be my friend after I tell her, much less Ron, or anyone for that matter." he admitted, "and I hate not knowing."

The morose teenager gripped his hands pained with the feeling of boiling liquid magic to the cold stone columns and sighed in minute relief. He should stop getting so worked up, he knew it just made his hands ache more. He sucked in the chilly air of dusk and tied very tightly a note to Hedwig's leg, who seemed to act coolly towards him ever since Fawkes had started spending time with Harry.

"Hey, girl, can you take this note to Hermione? I know you've been mad with me and I'm sorry, but this is really important to me. Wait for a response, if you can." the boy pleaded sheepishly, feeling a tinge of guilt that he hadn't really visited the poor bird as often.

Hedwig peered at him for a moment, nipping his finger just a little too harshly before taking off in flight. He could only hope that it ended up in the intended recipient's hands.

As Hedwig soon became just a little black spot in the distance, Harry felt both liberated and afraid.

Suddenly he looked down towards the Great Lake, shivering as he stared into the swirling waters. Funny, they hadn't seemed so calm nor so blue when he had been down there... bashed in the head by a giant squid and drowning. To think that something as small as a mere lake had nearly killed him when, year after a year, a vicious madman had failed to do so, made Harry chuckle just a little bit. Even though the lake was quite a distance away from him at this moment and it was not as imposing as when he had been nearly drowning to death in it, it still made him shiver in remembered fear. Instead of peace, it had now reminded him of the mantra that rung through his head when he sent the letter off just a minute ago: _It's too late, there's no going back now._


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: mentions of abuse, minor swearing

The day zipped by much too quickly, one moment he was getting ready for a hearty breakfast and the next moment it was near midnight when Hedwig flew through the window and offered a note tied to her leg. He untied the tightly wrapped twine on the bird's leg and unfolded the letter.

The second the boy looked at the tidy scrawl, he knew it was none other than Hermione's response to his proposition though he had dearly wished it wasn't. Anything would've been better- a Ministry warning, Draco proclaiming his eternal love for Harry, or even a rage-filled rant from Vernon himself. He could only stare in barely restrained panic at the words placed indelibly on the rectangular piece of parchment...

_Harry,_

_I would love to see you tomorrow! How about 2 pm, right after lunch? I'll floo call you later._

_Hermione_

The note was short, concise and coherent yet Harry gaped at it as if it were some complex mathematical formula pertaining to the resultant paradoxes which abounded due to using Time Turners. This was all happening so quickly, Harry thought while feeling faintly nauseous. He felt less than prepared to speak with her about the abuse he received over the summer.

Sullen and terrified, the boy spent yet another sleepless night wondering what the hell he was going to do. Questions raced through his head as if on a circular track, constantly coming to the forefront of his mind before driving off and spawning new, even more terrifying and thought provoking questions. In some rare moments he had almost dozed off, only to be startled once again by the incessant nagging in his brain- what should he say to Hermione? How will he start the conversation itself? Will she prompt the conversation herself? What if the words get stuck in his throat? What if Snape is busy so he can't be there when he tells her? What if...

Time and time again he pulled up the cozy comforter to his chin, trying to stop his shivering before kicking it off as he felt waves of intense heat wrack through his body. Twisting and turning in order to find the elusive 'comfortable position', the boy could not stop the nervous bouts of fidgeting which occurred whenever he imagined a particularly dreadful scenario in his mind. Three of four times he had just gotten up to pace for ten minute intervals, doing anything to mitigate the nervous anxiety. His hands beat to correspond with the growing fears.

"_Ugh_," Harry groaned, clenching fingernails into his pounding palms. Undoing to the glamour to check his pained hands, the brilliantly white light had nearly blinded him and he peddled back in shock only to land hard against the floor.

Squinting, he examined the flicking tendrils and the the glowing mass in the middle of his hands. The threads of magic emanating from the ball had seemed to start curling into themselves, creating an intricate and graceful pattern that looked like it was branded onto the surface of his skin itself. He hissed as he felt the magic ram against his flesh, and he could've sworn he saw the ball in the center of his palm actually create a visible bulge against his skin as it forced itself to bob up. He felt pained tears leak out of the corners of his eyes and he ran up towards an adjoining bathroom to the boy's dormitory to place his singed hands under cool water.

His pained musings were abruptly ended when he felt a pair of talons grip his shoulder, and he looked up dismally towards the bird that rested there. "Fawkes," he gasped. How did he get in without Harry noticing...?

The phoenix peered at him with warm brown eyes before allowing a tranquil melody to arise from his throat. Almost immediately, the harmonious tune made the boy's chest deflate and his tense shoulders drop as if they were leaden weights against his torso. The soft song resonated with something deeply within himself, whether he'd address this thing as a soul swinging its hips gently to and fro in response to the song, or as dopamine creeping through the synapses in his brain, he nonetheless felt an inexplicable yet entirely welcome calmness sweeping through his body. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, and it was as if every blood cell in every vein was slowing its pace to the very beat of the song. He was too caught up in the soulful tunes to realize it, but the formerly searing light in his hands seemed to abate to a warm soft glow- his magic was tamed.

No longer worrying about his impending visit with Hermione or the pain in his hands, the boy was guided gently to his four-poster bed and was lulled to sleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

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Feeling a beam of light penetrate from a crack open in the otherwise dark, curtained bed and create an irritating light on his eyelids, Harry turned over and cuddled further in the blankets. He felt so warm and well-rested, and he couldn't wait to maybe get up and eat, fly around on his broom, leisurely flip through '_1001 Things You Didn't Know About Snitches'_, and...

_Wait._ Wasn't there something he had to do today? He remembered feeling nervous about something last night but then... Was Fawkes there to? He thought that he was afraid of someone coming to visit him... but that was silly, who'd make him- Harry suddenly sat up in abject terror, remembering that today he was going to see Hermione.

"Oh god," he wailed, pushing his warm hands to his eyes and being surprised by the visible glow. Oh yeah! Last night he had taken off the glamour to check on them, the boy realized with a start before reapplying it. After that the memories seemed to be a blur, as if he had one too many butterbeers.

Unable to go back to sleep with the new terrifying things in his mind, the boy slunk off to and took a long, scalding hot shower to drown out his thoughts. After that, the day was the exact antithesis of the one before it: instead of being extremely fast, this one creeped by an unbearably sluggish pace. Multiple times Harry found himself staring at the clock one moment, thinking at least an hour had gone by, only to look back and see that fifteen minutes had passed.

After flooing Snape and agreeing that he should stop by the Gryffindor tower around 5:00 pm to help Harry tell Hermione about his relatives, the boy quickly found that there were no other pressing issues to deal with that could properly distract him from his horror.

He spent the long morning hours vapidly emptying, organizing, re-emptying and re-organizing his trunk if only to give himself the comforting yet false sensation that he had some semblance of control. Afterwards, Fawkes had visited and just barely managed to not nip the boy's fingers when he ended up trying to rearrange the bird's tousled feathers. Lastly, he grabbed his wand and conjured tons of small, multi-color shapes that floated and arranged them into to do a complicated choreography up towards the tall common room ceiling.

He glanced towards the clock for the seventh time, sighing in exasperated anger to see that it was still two hours until Hermione would get here- even then, he wouldn't really be telling her until 5:00 pm when Snape would be able to get there.

On and on the cycle of doing something inane, staring at the clock, and lamenting the inevitable repeated until finally 2:00 pm rolled around.

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"Harry!" a shrill, excited voice screeched in his ear before a weight collided into his chest, making him pedal backwards to regain his balance. Coughing out the bushy brown hair that had made it into his mouth, he dizzily felt Hermione grasp his shoulders and hold him at arm's length in scrutinization.

"Much too thin," he heard the girl mutter underneath her breath, making the boy roll his eyes with mirth. It seemed that one of her mother-henning times was coming on.

"Hey Hermione," he greeted with a wide, nervous smile, "You know you just saw me a while ago, no need to try and break my ribs." he added, referring to the rather enthusiastic hug.

She sniffed snootily and let go of his shoulders, "Well, I'll have you know, the last two times I saw you, you were in the Infirmary; so I think it's quite a novel experience to actually have you not nearly dead." she huffed, continuing to appraise him with her eyes.

Harry laughed, ignoring the sting of guilt at making her so worried. "I'm okay now, I'll have you know that I think I've already had my annual dose of near death experiences."

Light conversation went on like that for a while, before the two settled into a competitive game of chess and discussions concerning the summer homework.

"Where is Ron, by the way?" Hermione inquired curiously.

Harry felt his throat constrict and glanced up at the clock in his peripheral vision, "Uhh," he stammered, "I didn't invite him today because there's something I want to talk with you about. I'll talk about it with Ron later, but I thought It'd be best If I tell you first..."

A mist of tension permeated the air, making Hermione narrow her eyes and tense her shoulders. "What about?" she asked quietly, peering seriously at the boy.

"I want to talk with you about it a little bit later when Snape gets here." Harry replied, effectively cutting off the coming questions he was not quite ready to delve into.

Hermione felt the sickly presence of foreboding rearing its head to the front of her mind, and she bit lip to keep herself from voicing any of her suspicions. The two resumed the light conversation, yet it was strained and anxious.

After a few hours filled with curious glances thrown each other's way, the two were suddenly interrupted when the fireplace turned bright green and a tall figure stepped into the room.

"Mr. Potter, I believe it is time." the figure, who was a dour looking Professor Snape, said in an impressive drawl before spelling away the dust on his robes.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: Minor swearing, lots of mentions of abuse, etc

Wooo Chapter 20, this calls for celebration. Thanks to all of my reviewers, followers, favoriters, readers, etc, etc, etc. You all make my day!

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Harry nodded dumbly, feeling a wave of nausea make the spit in his mouth taste like acrid sludge. It's time, he realized with a pronounced shudder. There was no backing out of this, especially with Snape here with him, and that thought made his heart pound almost painfully against his chest.

In a few dreadful minutes she would know- she'd finally be aware of what he'd worked so hard to conceal for years. All of the long sleeves he'd worn to hide the bruises on his arms, all the times he had carefully controlled his flinches, and every lie he'd told about the Durselys' was all going to waste. It was entirely meaningless now.

Could he do it? Could he force the words out of his throat, and if he did, just how would he do it? Would he be able handle the inevitable confusion, sudden light of comprehension and shock that would race across Hermione's face? Even if the girl still wanted to be his friend after all of this, he couldn't help but wonder what terrible questions she would ask- she had always had an insatiable inclination to investigate anything she laid her eyes on.

Yes, she would interrogate him ruthlessly, read every book she could about 'child abuse', and would ultimately think that gave her to right to stamp every simple action he made as a result of his prolonged abuse. If he happened to yell at her out of frustration? She'd label it as clear projection of the aggression afforded to him by his uncle. The one thing Harry hated about Hermione was her far-fetched ideas that she was always right.

He buried his face into his hands, wondering if it would be a good decision to tell the girl after all.

"Potter?" Snape queried in a near-whisper, patting the boy with his calloused hands and goading him into a more comfortable position on the plush common room couch.

"What's going on here?" Hermione asked, eyes flashing suspiciously with a cool expression thrown towards Snape.

"If you'd shut your overlarge mouth Granger, maybe Potter could get on with it." the professor hissed.

"Stop it, both of you. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible." Harry interjected before the girl could make an indignant reply. She huffed childishly, yet soon placed her full attention on the boy.

To say that she was worried would be an understatement, if not a downright lie. She was utterly terrified of the things she imagined would spill from Harry's mouth; whatever could make the usually closed-off boy speak would have to obviously be something of extreme importance.

Harry shivered at the intense expression on the girl's face, "There's something I have to tell you, something I've had to tell you for a while... well, tell everyone I guess." he stammered, "Just promise you won't freak out about it?"

Hermione nodded, ears cocked like an attentive student not willing to miss a lengthy lecture. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it together." she consoled.

The boy shifted his eyes briefly towards the nearest exit, a habit he had formed early in life. "You know how over the summer... that, well, you know how I made it to Hogwarts really beat up? And I told everyone that I'd tell them later?"

Hermione straightened her back, obviously remembering, yet said nothing. Meanwhile, Snape continued to place a comforting hand on his back.

"Well, the reason I was so hurt was because..." the boy paused momentarily, trying to fight the muscles constricting in his throat, "My... my uncle was... he had a meeting the other night and, and, he was... he didn't sleep well and, well, I got... I...I was being a brat 'cause... he..."

The boy stopped with his mouth still trying to form words, feeling like his lungs were shriveling up as if they were sun dried raisins. Did he have something stuck in his throat? He couldn't remember eating. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think...

_"Harry, who did this to you?" she cooed, gently grasping his bony wrist swollen with purple, sausage-like marks that look vaguely like fingers._

_His lips quivered in both fear and confusion, "Can I go to recess now, Mrs. Kelly?" the small boy with saucer-like green eyes asked, cherubic face twisted into a frown._

_"First I think we should visit the school nurse," she said lovingly, ignoring his flinch when she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and guided him through the hallways._

_An hour later he sat, red-faced and teary eyed and to accompany that was waves of embarrassment that made him wish the floor would swallow him up whole. He'd just gone through the most violating experience in his entire life- the large-chinned nurse lady had made him take his shirt and his trousers off, exposing the multiplicity of purple blotches and irritated scratches that dotted his body. And afterwards? She had the audacity to ask about his home-life!_

_He shivered, curling up in a tight, impenetrable ball to block out the harsh whisperings occurring in the room adjacent from his. They were talking about him, he just knew it. And he couldn't handle it. He just couldn't- he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be stuck in this room with the very walls themselves enclosing on him! He knew his cupboard was even smaller than this but at least the walls weren't so white... so lonely, so desolate, so imposing and so terribly unsympathetic... white walls... white walls meant nurse's offices and nurse offices meant questions and questions meant exposing his secrets and exposing his secrets meant they knew he was a freak and... and... and..._

_Not able to handle it anymore, the small, sneaky boy lunged at the door and sprinted out of the school, ignoring the sound of approaching footsteps behind him and the orders of "Stop right this instant, mister!"_

_He ran and ran. He ran all the way past the school grounds, eventually hearing the sound of feet dying away, yet he still ran as far and as fast as he could. Chest heaving in terror, the boy wrenched open the door to number 4, Privet Drive and, without anyone noticing, bolted into his cupboard._

"Harry? Harry? Are you okay?" a voice asked, shaking his shoulder.

_He stayed completely silent, peering through a crack in his cupboard as he heard a knock on the front door. Seeing the plaster crack slightly on the ceiling of his cupboard as a large, lumbering Vernon made it down the stairs and to the door, he prayed that it was not who he thought it was._

_Unable to look away, he saw a proper-looking lady with a narrow nose and crinkled lips step into the house warily, "I'm here to talk about your nephew Harry Potter." she greeted, voice devoid of emotion._

_Harry's heart dropped into his stomach._

_"What is this about?" the man hissed vindictively, a nervous yet collected Aunt Petunia coming to grasp his shoulder harshly and shake hands with the lady at the door._

_"At his school today, allegations were brought up concerning his home life."_

_Uncle Vernon's eyes seemed to pop right out of his skull, his face turning as red as a beet. "So, the boy's been spinning lies again, hasn't he?" he spat mutinously, "We put a roof over his head, feed him, provide him with clothes and education... and he does this to us? He tries to rip our family apart?" the man muttered, creating a detailed narrative about how the rotten boy had put all of those bruises on himself as a meaningless ploy for attention._

_The prim, elderly lady nodded her head in complete agreement to the man and Petunia, adding in commentary such as the occasional, "Kids these days, don't get harsh enough punishment...", "Hope you put the boy in his proper place...", and other vicious remarks._

_Muffling his heart-wrenching sobs into his knees, Harry shuddered in fear and it was only fifteen minutes later when his uncle, quivering with unmitigated anger and insanity, found him and hauled him up by his collar out of the cupboard._

_"You," Vernon screamed, so enraged that he literally could not say anything more. The frail boy could not recall ever seeing the man so angry in his entire lifetime. Needless to say, Harry woke up the next day not being able to remember what happened that night._

He blinked, feeling tears streak down his face, and suddenly he felt the calloused hand on his back again, pulling him from the memory like a lifeline. He looked back at a sniffling Hermione, who had at some point rested a hand onto his knee.

"He hurt me," Harry choked through the tears in an almost inaudible whisper, "He really hurt me."

All at once the wide, sad brown eyes seemed to engulf his vision as the girl rocketed herself into him and squeezed out the oxygen in his lungs. "Oh Harry!" she cried, "No! I hadn't... I hadn't even noticed... after all these years. You come back every summer thinner and thinner, and I didn't suspect a thing!"

The boy could only pat her back in response, dumbfounded and confused.

"I'm such a bad friend! Letting y-you go through this sort of thing, how could I? I was just so wrapped up in myself th-that I didn't even..."

Harry could only stare at the brown mass of hair in his line of sight in complete shock, stilling completely. "You still want to be friends?" he choked.

The next thing he knew, the boy felt a sharp knock on the side of his head, "Of course I still want to be your friend, you idiot! How could you think I w-would just abandon you?" she griped, holding the boy back firmly by the arms. Harry was surprised to see the girl was just as teared up as he was.

"I just thought..." he trailed off, "I just thought that you would be mad that I kept this from you and, and, I really didn't know how you'd take it."

"No, no, no, no," she repeated as if it were a mantra, "I'm determined to help you through this, no matter what it takes!"

The two talked like that for quite a while, Hermione telling him over and over again that should would support him while Snape watched the proceedings like a hawk.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Hermione just had to let her burning need to know overtake her desire to provide silent support. "Just how did he hurt you, Harry?" she asked.

The boy's face burned and he recoiled, yet she continued. "I mean, was it solely physical? Or was it also verbal?" she interrogated, before adding in a whisper, "what... what about sexual?"

Harry's face turned an even deeper shade of red and he dug his face into his hands.

Snape growled with a guttural noise coming from the back of his throat, "I think it's time for you to leave, Mrs. Granger." he said in a tight, demanding voice, nearly dragging the girl out of the portrait door by her hair and slamming it shut behind the two.

She blinked, glaring at the man as the portraits on the wall stared with vague interest. "What was that about?" she screeched.

"What was that about? _What was that about?_" the man barked, "How dare you think you have the right to ask such demeaning, such personal and such explicit questions when the boy is obviously not ready yet!"

He shook in anger, feeling for the first time in his life the desire to actually hit a student for insolence, "Go."

"What?"

"Leave, leave now. You've had your stay, you may use the floo station in the Headmaster's office, the password is Gillygorm's Gumdrops." Snape hissed, "Leave before I get angry."

Hermione shuddered yet stuck to her ground.

"If it makes you feel any better, there was no physical evidence of any sort of sexual abuse found." he growled. The girl, dropping her shoulders in relief, suddenly recognized the danger of the situation before scurrying up the steps and disappearing into a dark hallway.

Snape took deep, calming breaths before speaking the password, "Nobility in Death" and walking through the portrait door. He collected himself before joining the boy on the common room couch.

"Mr. Potter?"

The boy heaved, making stuttering gasps for air, "I knew it, I knew she would do something like that," he choked through gritted teeth, "How could she ask me something like that? _How_?"

The professor remained silent, pursing his lips and not trusting himself to speak at the very moment. Rubbing the boy's back in soothing motions, he allowed Potter to lean against him. "I'm not something to be studied under a microscope!" he hissed.

At least the boy recognizes that he has some worth.

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This took really long to write for some reason. Anyways, I want to reply to some of your reviews so yeahhhh...

I'm not sure if any of you want your screen names forever immortalized on the chapter, so I'll just try and refer back to the question itself.

_- "Chocolate can kill dogs, so Sirius could have become ill after a chocolate dessert at school. Remus, in fanon he is a chocoholic, so do you think he would be upset to learn that Sirius would die if given that type of sugary treat?"_

A: Yes. I do think he would be upset about that, ahaha. That made me laugh a little bit.

_-"Forget Azkaban, regular muggle prison would be better as the "normal" people would see what freaks the Dursley truly are...their reputation means everything to them, so if normal people look down on them, the impact to their self worth would be more substantial."_

A: That was really insightful! I would've never thought of something like that myself. I love how you always comment on my chapters by the way :D, I think it's great how there is discussion going on.

_-"I am so glad that Severus is going to be there for Harry when he tells Hermione. As much as I've always like the girl, sometimes she is not the most sensitive. I can just picture her asking questions he doesn't want to answer. I really don't blame Harry for not wanting to share with Ron. It is no secret, especially after his first year, that Harry was abused. After having to rescue him from his home, none of the Weasleys kept him from having to go back._

_Thank you so much for the great new chapter! I can't wait for more"_

A: Eep, I'm really happy you like my writing. It makes me motivated to write a lot more. About Hermione- I do think that she has a tendency to focus more on getting answers than on other people around her sometimes. Anyways you totally predicted sort of the jist of his chapter towards the end of it and what light I was slanting the girl in. (If that makes any sense...?)


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling nor do I make any money off of this

Warnings: Minor swearing

Thank you all for your reviews! You're fantastically awesome.

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After the less than positive experience of telling Hermione about his 'dear relatives', Harry was hard-pressed to tell anyone else about them, much to the chagrin of Professor Snape. Time and time again the man had offered to provide more support for whomever he decided to grace this information to, yet the boy was reluctant to even think about doing that. He'd never wanted anyone to know about it in the first place, why should he have to announce it the world? Just what it do for him?

Besides make him cringe in embarrassment for days on end, it brought up all of the things he didn't want to focus on. He didn't have to think on those things at all now, especially with him at Hogwarts at least for the rest of the summer and school year. It would be better for him and his delicate sensibilities if he could just forget all of it, pretend that someone had loved him, and go on with the tenuous peace he had built up so far.

These ideas, of course, were obviously very different from what Snape thought was necessary for him- something about confronting his feelings and healing? That obviously was a load of rubbish, not that he was going to say that directly to the man's face. In the end he had the potential to be much happier if he just pretended, and that was precisely what he was going to do.

He had decided this course of action when laid back on the common room couch, feet up on the oak coffee table before him, and lazily perusing a book he picked up a while ago from the library. This was how he had often spent him time yet, suddenly feeling a bout of inattentiveness and restlessness, he flopped the book over after the last few pages he had spent skimming unseeingly into the text. The longer he sat reclined, the more he thought that he should be doing something of value, like touching up his summer homework, arranging to visit the Weasleys, or flying.

Anything really would be better than lying around, yet he could not muster the energy to invest time into those things. He had spent a large portion of the summer bursting out into hysterical sobs, dreading people finding out about the Durselys, confronting things he had no idea on how to confront, and so on; he supposed the last few emotionally charged weeks were the cause of his resultant tiredness. In his mind, this just reconfirmed the idea that he'd be better off forgetting.

Staring into the vast expanse of ceiling above his head, it only took a few minutes until his eyes started fluttering as he dozed off.

_He was there once again. How he longed to join them, to fly among the masses of feathers which seemed to all be apart of some strictly choreographed dance, yet was nonetheless wild and free. With a heavy heart he realized it was not his time yet, nor was it his destiny. It was something grander, something larger than himself, something even larger than the forest which it was currently confined to._

_Stepping past the trees, the boy felt the insatiable burning in his palm spread out through the thread of magic in his fingers and curl around his wrist, forming Celtic knots, and tapering off near his upper arm. The glamour he had worrying placed on them every day had crumbled away with the sheer power of the searing lights, and the very snow beneath his feet had melted instantly on contact with the outpouring of magical heat from his body._

_The heat. The heat. It was unbearable and painful and loathsome, yet entirely necessary. It was infinitely worse than a fever- it was as if the very core of his body was engulfed in red, hot flame that vaporized his lungs into charred crisps and shot blazing beams straight through his arms. It hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced in his life, and he felt unprepared for the fires melting his insides, yet he did not pass out from the staggering pain. The heat controlled his mind too- it made his head numb, it gave him the bravery to step forward into the collection of birds, and guided him where he would need to be..._

Heat. Heat. Heat. Heat. He woke up writhing in sheer agony, contorting into odd positions and screaming. He was dying, perhaps he had rolled in the common room fire... his organs were burned into dust... his chest... his arms...

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open, and he was staring once again at the ceiling up above. The moment the heat had started was the moment that it had evaporated from every pore in his body, leaving him shivering uncontrollably in remembered pain. He wasn't dead, far from it, nor was he burning, though he was drenched in sweat as if suffering from a bad fever. He was lying on the carpet, the book he had been reading pushed off from the coffee table and right beside him.

"_What was that? What the hell was that?_" he said aloud to himself, his voice being gruff and little more than a soft breathy whisper as a testament to how long he had been screaming. Petrified and shuddering, the boy latched onto the mahogany end table to his right and used it to haul himself up from the floor. He walked in frenzied, dizzy circles and then ran up towards the dormitory and just barely made it in time to violently vomit into a trashcan.

Harry felt weak and cold and afraid and just wanted it to stop already. He wished Snape was here, or Sirius, even though he knew the two of them would be horrible in this situation.

"Fawkes, can you hear me?" he whispered into the empty room, wanting desperately to be comforted by the bird. The phoenix often intuitively knew whenever he was in trouble, and he hoped that maybe the call would work. "Please."

Hugging his head into his knees, it was only a moment later when he felt the familiar grip of talons on his shoulder. The presence of the bird seemed to steady him, easing him back into reality with a touch of renewed vigor. Fawkes nibbled on strands of his hair, tugging at his scalp, as he usually did and while that had at first bothered Harry, the boy had now become endeared to the action.

It was a whole fifteen minutes before he allowed himself to think about what happened and immediately a flood of terrified questions filled his head to the brim, making him gulp despite the bitter taste in his mouth. Would this happen again? Would it happen every night? Did it do internal damage?

"I'm scared." the boy said, the childishness of the statement being completely overridden by the depth and horror in his voice. He wanted to verbalize his dreadful thoughts, he really did, yet he couldn't get the words to form in his mouth. "I want to know what's happening to me."

The bird nudged him gently and the small action immediately made the words bubble like froth up and out from his throat, spilling out of his mouth, "What's going on with my hands? I don't know and it's, it's weird and freaky and it hurts and I don't know if it's really damaging me or not... I thought I had it under control but I don't, I see that now, and that dream... there was this forest with these phoenixes and I have that dream often, but I took a nap, and I woke up and I felt on fire. That's never happened before, this is the first time but I don't think it will be the last- but I hope it is. I don't think I can ever go to sleep again if I know that I could wake up like that. Literally it felt as if my insides were burning up. I don't know if it's hurting me but I can't tell anyone, not even Madam Pomphrey, or Snape, and I can't get help; no one can know about it. I've just been figuring it out by myself. And, and, there was this house elf... and she, her name was Wrinkly, you see, and she said something about 'old magicks' and me handling some sort of 'destiny', but I don't wanna. It hurts and it's stressful and I can't deal with it, I just can't." he cried, adding, "I never asked for this to happen."

Fawkes continued to sift through his black mop of hair, preening him as if he were a baby bird.

"Whatever's happening to me is getting harder and harder to keep a secret, and think about how hard it will be to control when the rest of the students get back. If I make a mistake, or I wake up screaming, or the glamour breaks in class, or... or... freaky stuff happens around me then all of it was f-for nothing." Harry said, biting his trembling lip. "Just how bad does it get?"

The bird did not reply, did not chirp back in acknowledgement or even throw decipherable glances in his direction, yet his very presence eased Harry's mind slightly. As the memory of burning receded from his mind, the boy was able to more calmly view the situation. Besides the fire that ignited within him in the dream, it was interesting to note that the setting was in a forest during the winter time- did that mean he would find this mass of birds during the winter months? Or, was it just meaningless symbolism? How much of the dream was symbolism, how much of it was down right false, and how much of it was comparable to reality? At this point, he had no way of knowing, and the idea that he'd just had to sit back and wait was equally as terrifying as the burning.

Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice that a scruffy house elf had popped into the dormitory until Fawkes squawked in his ear. Blinking, he looked at the creature. "Hullo there, what's this about?" he asked, voice still raspy.

The creature blinked back at him with dish-plate sized, glassy eyes. "Sirs, Headmaster Dumblydoors wants to meet you in his offices." he said, voice timid and trembling as he handed a scruffy piece of parchment to the boy.

_Harry, _

_I was wondering if you'd stop by my office. I haven't seen you much this summer and I'd like to know how you're doing, if you'd give an old man the time. _

_PS. I like Salamander's Sasparilla_

"Thank you." Harry said tightly, "Could you tell Dumbledore that I'm going to get ready first and I'll be up in a little bit, if he'd wait?"

The house elf nodded abruptly, disappearing with a pop.

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Replying to some reviews:

_"I can't begin to tell you how fabulous your last two chapters were. Thank you for having Fawkes help Harry while he was worried about his meeting with Hermione. I'm sure that if it hadn't been for Fawkes Harry would't have been able to sleep at all._

_Severus was wonderful to stay with Harry while he told his story to Hermione. I feel so sorry about his flashback, it is horrible not to be believed about abuse! Harry is a much better person than me by being able to forgive Dumbledore for placing him there, especially after he had asked not to go back. I hope that Hermione will realize how insensitive her questions to Harry were. Even now, for some reason, I doubt that she will realize she was in the wrong._

_Incredible updates! Please post again soon!"_

A: Yes! I'm glad you liked it, that chapter took a long time because I didn't want to disappoint anybody. It was really an important moment to write and I think it adds a insight into Harry's past, as well as his character and how the abuse effected him. I'm super happy I didn't mess up the scene, thank you for reviewing by the way... you make my day!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this; I know this is a hard concept to grasp, but I'm sure with time you'll all come to terms with it.  
Warnings: none...?

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Stripping off his clothes soggy with sweat, the boy stepped eagerly into a lukewarm shower to wash away the latent pallor of his skin. He supposed he looked absolutely dreadful-pale and shaking being some of the lesser symptoms of the burning.

Reaching for a bar of soap and lathering it into his hands, he wondered what Dumbledore wanted to see him for. Perhaps it really was to rebuild their crumbling relationship, or to see how he was doing, yet in the back of his mind, Harry couldn't help but theorize that the man had some sort of plan hatching for him. The Headmaster had an inclination towards controlling people for his own ends, even though the old man did it for what he thought was best. Nevertheless, seeing him would get the boy's mind off of his terrible dream, and that, besides his curiosity, is precisely the reason he was going to see Dumbledore.

Thirty minutes later he forced himself to turn off the steady stream of water that comfortingly massaged his head and back. He stepped out of the shower, performed an impromptu drying spell, and dressed in his school robes for lack of better clothing. Thankfully, he looked a little bit better than when he had first entered the bathroom. He supposed if Fawkes hadn't flown back to his master, then the bird would've been consoled by that fact.

Sliding his wand in his front pocket as per usual, the boy walked briskly out of the dormitory, common room, and then winded through the maze of hallways up towards the man's office. He waved and gave nervous half-smiles to some of the portraits he recognized from prior walks up the same corridors and adeptly weaved through the school he was so fond of.

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"Salamander's Sasparilla," The gargoyle slid to the right, and Harry opened the door, walked up a short wooden staircase and knocked on the second door before the man's office.

"Come in." a friendly voice rang in his ear, slightly muffled by the large, thick door. Harry timidly pushed it open and peeked his head over the edge childishly, staring at a humming Dumbledore scratching on some parchment. Fawkes seemed to be mildly interested in what the man was doing, and squawked every now and then in what Harry thought was some form of commentary.

The boy took a few more steps into the vast, yet somehow cozy, space and peered interestingly at the eccentric gadgets and snoozing portraits lining the room. It was no less grand or homey than when he had first visited the Headmaster during first year, yet now a distant, wary feeling seemed to reside within the very walls themselves. Things had changed, Harry realized with a faint frown. Whether it was the tension between him and the Headmaster or the current political climate that caused this feeling, the boy was not sure.

Fawkes perked up when he saw the boy and immediately darted onto Harry's shoulder. "I just saw you a few minutes ago, you know." he laughed, ruffling the bird's feathers in renewed enthusiasm.

"Ah, sit down, my boy." Dumbledore said, eyeing the two. Harry obediently took a seat with the phoenix still cuddled up on his shoulder.

"Hello sir." the boy said with partially disguised nervousness, feeling wary of whatever the man's intentions were. The Headmaster seemed to recognize this with a vague, nearly unnoticeable frown, yet said nothing as a cup of tea ghosted through the air and landed in Harry's hands. "What's this about?"

"I just wanted to see how you were settling in, my boy." Dumbledore chuckled before giving a faintly amused grin towards Fawkes, "the old bird seems to have taken a liking to you."

The phoenix then proceeded to chirp rather indignantly and Harry laughed, "Yeah, I guess so. I have no idea why... he won't leave me alone sometimes, not saying that's a bad thing though."

The Headmaster peered at the bird scrutinizingly, "Such a relation between phoenixes and humans is very uncommon, I'd suspect that maybe Fawkes is bonding to you."

Harry blinked, shocked and uncomprehending. "That's makes no sense, an animal can't be bonded to two people. Fawkes is yours, not mine."

Dumbledore sat back, sipping from a nearly comically small tea cup. "You shouldn't speak of familiars in terms of ownership, Harry. Just as if we are speaking of wands, you don't choose the familiar, the familiar chooses you." he described aptly, drawing on some source of mental prowess, "If Fawkes has chosen to reject me, due to some past indiscretion or otherwise, then it would not be presumptuous to assume that he has chosen you as a worthy colleague of sorts."

The boy straightened his back, "But... you haven't done anything wrong! Besides, I mean, I don't have anything to offer." he denied. "Fawkes still spends most of his time with you, you know."

The man's wrinkles suddenly became prominent and the sad gleam in his eyes spoke volumes of guilt. "What did those people do to you, to make you think in any sense of the word that leaving you with them was not a mistake?" he whispered, looking at some distant point in space just past the boy's head, "I've wronged many people in my life, my boy, but most of all I've wronged you. Not checking up on you properly, just expecting foolishly that those people would accept you into their home, and most of all ignoring you when you asked me personally to stay over the summer."

The boy never heard the man speak so coolly about anyone before, but the tone in his voice whenever he said '_those people_' made Harry shiver. "I forgave you. It's fine now, you thought you were doing your best, and it's over now anyways."

"That's exactly why Fawkes would choose you over me, Harry. You're much too forgiving, much too good, and much too humble." the Headmaster commented wearily, "Phoenixes are creatures of the light, you know, and this does relate back to the time he saved you in the Chamber in second year."

Harry stood up abruptly, almost startling the bird off of his shoulder. "No, that's not it." he denied, "Trust me, I just know. I would know if Fawkes was bonded to me, I'd be able to sense it. He isn't mine, at least not yet if you want to think of it in 'eventual' terms, he's yours... or rather, Fawkes still chooses you."

Dumbledore remained quiet and contemplative, yet he stirred slightly. "I don't know how I know, I just do. Somehow I can feel it in my very bones." Harry continued, before adding a wispy, uncontrolled voice as he felt some odd trance fall over him, "Fawkes is not my singular destiny... Fawkes is not the only answer to The Call..."

The Headmaster's back straightened immediately with unconstrained fear, "_What?_" he hissed, "What did you say?" The old man felt a premonitory chill pour onto his skin, seeping through his veins and settling deeply within his chest. Was the boy saying what he thought he was saying?

Harry felt the trance diminish and the glassy look in his eyes receded, leaving him confused. "Huh?" Had he said something?

Albus blinked. Did he just imagine the boy said that? "I'm sorry, I thought you said something." the man replied sheepishly after a moment of silence. He was getting too worked up lately with the Minister and Voldemort's return, it wouldn't be hard to conclude that the stress made him imagine things. Consoled, the Headmaster gestured the boy back into his seat with a wave of his hand. "I must be hearing things; senility will do that to you."

Harry laughed and they resumed friendly conversation. They spent a couple of hours chatting with each other and while at first it seemed strained, they both relaxed a little after a while, especially with the presence of Fawkes.

It was only the dark outside which alerted the two to how long they'd been talking, and soon Harry stood up with the phoenix still perched on his shoulder. "You coming with me?" he whispered, and the bird nibbled on the top of his ear in what he assumed was a yes.

"Fawkes wants to have a sleepover, apparently." Harry chuckled, waving goodbye to the elder man and leaving the office towards his common room.

Fifteen minutes later, he was slumped on the red couch in front of the empty fireplace. Rubbing his forehead and resting his elbows on his knees, the boy stayed silent for a moment. "Thanks."

Fawkes chirped, nudging him slightly. "I don't... I would be too afraid to go to sleep if you weren't here. I don't want to go to sleep and wake up on fire again." he admitted, "If it's not too much to ask, could you watch me while I sleep?"

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With the bird's hasty intervention, the boy woke up refreshed and notably not feeling like he was burning to death. He didn't know if perhaps Fawkes had some sort of power which enabled him to control this, or if the feeling of burning was a one time thing, nonetheless he felt better with the full night of sleep he managed to get.

The rest of the day was spent exploring the odd nooks and crannies of the castle, reading, and flying on his broom. The rest of the summer, by comparison, went by slowly and felt pleasantly dull.

For the time being, he found it fit to monitor the growth of the magic light on his hands that was spreading out with tendrils now just barely up peeking above his wrist. Ever since he had the terrifying experience of waking up on fire, the boy realized that he had to do something to control the amount of magic that built up. He supposed that the less he used his magic, the more the magic that built up, hurt him and ended up as accidental magic because there was a correlation between how often his hands ached and how much magic he used on a daily basis. His hypothesis actually proved true and Harry saw it fit to discreetly practice it in the common room; he did not yet know where he should use it when the students returned in a few days time.

After one experimental magic session, the boy discovered that he could actually wandlessly and wordlessly perform simple bits of magic relatively easy. He had felt particularly restless and after transfiguring a vase into random objects without even batting an eyelash for a steady twenty minutes, Harry decided to place his wand down and see what happened. The vase still obediently transfigured and, although the boy knew it was freaky and unacceptable, he felt that casting things wandlessly and wordlessly felt more _natural?_ to him somehow. It was definitely harder and used up more of his magic, yet his hands felt more tamed as a result.

Aside from experimenting with his evolving magic, the boy was dragged to Diagon Alley by Snape, who proceeded to purchase everything Harry would need for the school year as well as extra clothing. This perturbed the boy and when asking why the man was doing this, the professor regarded him coolly and replied in a long drawl: "It would be uncouth for me to watch you pay for your own school things when I am in a position to help you."

A multitude of textbooks, potions ingredients, and robes later, Harry was all prepared for the new and upcoming school year.

Before he even knew it, it was the night before the students would be coming back for the welcoming feast and Harry felt both afraid and excited. Afraid because of the problems presented by his hands and excited because his friends were coming back; well, maybe he wasn't that excited to confront Hermione... but surely Neville, Luna, Ron as well as all of his dorm mates would provide more than sufficient company for him until the stubborn girl and him would talk.

Friendships aside, the boy felt a sensation of optimism seep over him, one which would prove difficult to crush. Optimism, he decided, was never a good thing and it only led to one getting hurt later. _It's always when I get optimistic that bad things start to happen_, Harry thought morosely, reflecting on the moment before he and Cedric touched the cup... when they had both known they'd just created a lifetime friendship. Yes, it would be no good to perceive reality in terms of optimism.

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yay school time next chapter. I just realized how long summer was, and it wasn't even the full summer I described, so I've really got to work on making the passage of time a titch faster XD.

Review replying: (I don't include any screen names)

**"_God I love your story telling sooooooo much :-)_"**

A: Yes! Aggh I'm getting too arrogant, thank you for your lovely review.

**"_Like the story, but want it to move forward-how are Severus and Harry related? what's with the glowing hands already_?"**

A: Passage of time is something I reaaally have to work on, I just describe too many things and it takes a lot of chapters. One reason I made the summer so extreeeemely long was because there were a few key plot points I needed to set down (as well as character development), but I'm hoping it'll go faster after this. Thanks for your commentary.

By the way, 'Severitus' just means: if in any way Snape becomes a father-figure, mentors, apprentices, is related to, etc Harry- it does not necessarily mean, but does include the idea, the Severus is actually blood-related to Harry. I'm not giving anything away, but keep that in mind.

**_"Thank you so much for the update! Your story is so incredible and I hope you know how much I am enjoying reading it! My heart is breaking for poor Harry, he must be scared and feel so alone. I just hope that soon he can tell Severus what is happening. _**

**_I am really disappointed that Hermione didn't even write to Harry and apologize. Does she even realize how insensitive she was? She reminds me more of Rita Skeeter looking for a good story than a friend. I don't blame Harry for not wanting to share with anyone else!_**

**_Can't wait to read more of your story! I am worried about how Harry's meeting with Dumbledore will go. Please update again soon!"_**

A: Thanks so much for your review! I know I've said that a million times, but wow, it's complement central over here. Being sorta a first-time writer, I'm glad I can actually make people empathize with the characters. That's been a challenge of mine.

Yes, Hermione loves her friends but she insensitive at times. Anywaysies, I hope you also enjoy this chapter!


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing.

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Harry threw a chilled glance towards the other boy. "I'd have rather not gone." he commented morosely, sliding the curtains around his four-poster bed shut and digging deeply into the covers despite the abominable night heat.

Ron scratched the back of his head, eyeing the closed curtains as if they'd open once again. "It couldn't of been that bad, could it?"

"Yeah, well, it was." And just like that, further conversation was effectively cut off between the two.

The boy could practically hear Seamus' sweaty fingers tightening around his bed post as he catapulted Dean's hand off of his shoulder, storming over to his own cozy comforters.

"Bloody Boy-Who-Lived, attention mongering..." a heavy Irish accent spat with such undisguised viciousness that it seemed to leak through the very curtains and comforters surrounding him.

_Everyone hates me_. That was the singular thought that condensed in the boy's mind for the past four hours, powdering his head in black soot as if there were a pile of burning coal at the base of his skull. It had all started at the beginning of the Welcoming Feast and, well, it probably wouldn't end for a very long time.

The boy knew that the moment he claimed Voldemort was back that a lot of people wouldn't be too happy with him, but he hadn't known that rags like the Daily Prophet would've been able to convince his very own housemates that he was a raging lunatic bent on doing anything for even a scrap of attention.

That petty tabloid was the very reason why every eye in the Great Hall was attracted to him like moths to a flame, staring him down with baleful expressions and whispering vicious comments into their friends ears. Some of the things said about him were not-so-whispered either. He sat in his seat for what seemed like hours, closing his eyes yet not being able to avoid hearing the terrible things people spewed about him behind his back. Hell, even Seamus, his very own dorm mate, hated him now!

The only positive thing was that Fred, George, Ron, Neville and later Luna, all sat very close to him, trying to form a protective ring against the glares and mutterings other students made- in those embarrassing and dreadful moments, he felt a spark of pride and luck that he had such great friends.

That feeling was shattered nearing the end of the feast when Headmaster Dumbledore stood to make an announcement; a very proper, plump lady adorned in eye-singing pink had stood up and the moment she opened her wide mouth she dashed any hopes the boy had of having a decent defense teacher. It seemed that he was in for a very, very long year.

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The first week of classes passed with the usual spark that characterized Hogwarts, punctuated by moments of the students' shared dismay that the summer was over, yet conversely filled with bubbling excitement that they were going to learn all new magic.

For Harry, the first class of the year he had was Potions, which was usually something that made him groan in distress, yet now he was curious as to how the Potions master would act in regards to him. Throughout the lesson, Professor Snape threw the occasional half-hearted glare and spat less-than-scathing insults towards him. The insults and glares seemed even more dull in comparison to the looks and jeers he got from the Slytherins, as well as some Gryffindors, throughout the day. Harry had learned to expect that Snape would probably revert to hating him, yet judging by the lackluster, positively un-Snapeish taunts, he couldn't help but wonder if it were an act only to be maintained in public. In some disregarded part of his mind, he _really_ hoped it was. Aside from that, due to the viciousness maintained throughout the hour by none other than Draco, at the end of the lesson his potion was reduced to little more than soppy green sludge.

The next class, Transfiguration, was comparatively better and served as a useful way to tame the magic in his hands. The assigned work was to transfigure a dish plate into a mushroom which wasn't particularly useful, seeing as how the mushroom wasn't very tasty, yet would serve to introduce the students into a more sophisticated type of transfiguration later on. The class wasn't so bad because, after Mcgonagall finished her lecture, he was allowed to talk to Neville and Ron.

Much to the professor's surprise, Harry was the first one to turn his dish plate into a mushroom and he had forgotten to even speak the incantation. Thankfully no one had realized that he tried it wordlessly yet still the class received this news with a mixture of surprise, awe and hate-fueled mutterings of "attention mongerer". Hermione, meanwhile, who sat a few rows in front of him, looked slightly jealous and was opening her mouth to ask something before resolutely closing it shut.

The professor looked at him with a proud gleam in her eye and patted his back, continually proclaiming his stellar performance to the class which sent even more angry looks towards him. Harry quickly decided after that, that he would need to be extra careful about how much ability he showed in class- he absolutely couldn't let people get suspicious of him. When people asked him about the miraculously speedy transfiguration he answered vaguely, "Practice."

By the end of the lesson, Neville had only managed to turn his dish plate into a ceramic mushroom. At his glum look, Harry consoled, "Don't worry, it's really hard to change things into food." before adding, "You did better than most people could do, trust me."

The impressionable boy looked a little bit more cheered at the subtle complement, Harry felt inexplicably better, and the pack of Gryffindors trekked optimistically to Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Hermione warily trailing the group at a distance. She appeared to be unsure of just how to interact with Harry, especially after she was told off by Snape, and as such hadn't said a single word to the boy.

Unfortunately, DADA only ended up reaffirming Harry's bad mood. The teacher- Ambridge? Uhbricks?- was a complete dunce, and on top of that she was a strict, insulting yet not in a witty way, kiss-up toad. The moment she set those beady, soulless and oddly sinister eyes on the boy, he just knew that she was going to make life very hard for him.

"Ah, the Boy-Who-Lived, precious Harry Potter." she said in a nasty drawl, emitting a few tired chuckles from the Slytherins. "Unfortunately for you, you are not allowed to lie in this class, even though I know it's your favorite activity."

As his anger surged at her continual, never-ending tirade against him, so did the pain in his hands. He wanted desperately to grab her fat neck and pump the burning magic into her jugular, setting every blood cell in her damned body alight in flames. Such thoughts scared him by the vividness of its gore yet did nothing to alleviate his anger. Smartly he hid his hands under his desk, digging into his palms with his fingernails, and trying to think of anything else.

His anger grew to such a point that things started shifting slightly around the room, firstly his quill, then desk, soon the desks next to him, until the whole room was shaking as if under the effects of a minor earthquake. He only realized that the tall bookshelves lining the walls were shaking, causing some of the books to fall to the floor, when a hesitant hand shook his shoulder, calling out, "Harry?"

As he was distracted from his hate, immediately the room stilled and people got up to straighten out their things, "Wow! That was so weird, what was that?" would aptly describe most students' astounded, anxious or excited mutterings to their friends.

"Enough!" A thoroughly cowed Umbridge smacked a ruler against one of the particularly loud student's desks, causing everyone to quiet immediately and return to their seats. Expelling a breath from his chest that he didn't know he had been holding, Harry realized how close he had been to revealing his secret. He could've sworn the glamour he was wearing almost broke under the strain of his emotional charged hands, and as such the boy vowed to exercise his magic much more in order to avoid this happening again. He was aware that his magic exercises stopped a lot of the accidental magic that occurred around him, yet it didn't stop all of it apparently. He did not notice that Malfoy was staring at the back of his head with narrowed eyes.

At the end of the lesson, he had garnered himself a loss of fifty points, two detentions, and even more glares by the Gryffindors. All in all, it was not the best first day the boy had ever had.

The rest of the week went by much the same as the first day, yet each day seemed to get slightly better as he both coped with the negative attention and it started to recede as people got less interested in his state of reactionlessness. Concurrently, Hermione would glance towards him shyly every now and again, opening her mouth to say something, before she was either interrupted or lost the courage.

He knew he needed to talk to the girl, yet he still felt the sting of embarrassment and petty irritation at the intrusive questions she had asked him. Harry was aware that he should have expected that sort of thing, and that somehow or someway it was his fault, and those were the only two things which made him confront Hermione on the late, September sixth afternoon.

"Can I speak with you alone?" he had said, eyes shifting to an empty hallway as the students rowdily piled out of their last class of the day. Ron's mouth pursed slightly, and he sidled back against the stone wall adjacent to the classroom door, in a gesture that meant he was going to wait.

Hugging her heavy tomes more tightly to her chest, Hermione gave a small smile. "Sure."

As soon as they had stepped foot into the abandoned corridor, the girl dropped her books and immediately words spilled from her mouth. "I'm sorry, Harry! I shouldn't have asked you that, it was... it was too personal and I was too curious about it, and I shouldn't have done it, and I know that now. Jeez? What was I thinking? I really don't want to throw our friendship away, and I asked that because I care about your well-being, I know that isn't any exuse and I'm really really sorry. I don't know how I could've..."

The boy truly had met with her in order to get some things off of chest, yet looking at her guilty, tired eyes he realized that what he thought he was going to say was much, much too harsh.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I forgive you, I know you wanted the best, really. But can you please not ask things like that again? I'll tell you these sorts of things in time." he interjected, disregarding his prior intentions of going off on a scalding tirade. Just like that, they were friends again, and the girl cracked one or two ribs giving him an overenthusiastic hug.

"I won't! I swear!" she promised.

"Okay and make sure you don't tell anyone about..." Harry began, stammering a bit, "...about what happened to me."

She nodded zealously before the two rejoined Ron in the hallway. The redhead seemed quiet and annoyed somehow, yet later on when he off-handedly mentioned Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration in conversation, and Hermione gave him a congratulatory hug, he was infinitely more cheerful and even played a game of Exploding Snap with Harry.

Glancing towards Ron, the boy realized that if he chose not to tell him at all about his time over the summer, and somehow he learned that Harry told Hermione first, then the rift in their friendship it would cause would be enormous and near-irreparable. Ron was a good, but jealous individual, and Harry didn't know if he should risk not telling the other boy.

In summation, the week was a stressful, busy and negative one, and Harry pleaded that the following ones would get better. Between worrying about his hands, classes, and the other students, the boy didn't know if he could handle it if anything more were to disrupt the fragile balance he was in the process of creating for himself. It can't get any worse, right?

_ At least it's finally the weekend_, Harry thought.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

Harry stopped, his movement impeded by the large door that seemed to bounce his anxieties right back at him. He had told Ron and Hermione that he was taking a quick trip up towards the kitchens and that'd he be back soon- he'd have to do this quick. Not allowing himself to linger like last time, he knocked the moment his hand touched the surface of the polished wood.

"Enter," the long, waspish voice of an unmistakable Professor Snape ordered. He stepped into the room timidly, shutting the door behind him with a clink. He knew he needed to do this, to assess the situation.

After seeing Snape act in a mean yet not-quite-so-mean way to him this first week, Harry's curiosity would not let him get away with anything except an answer.

The boy stopped a few feet before the man's desk, scratching his inner forearm. "Is anyone else here?"

Snape regarded him lazily for a moment, one corner of his thin upper lip pulling back as if to form a snarl yet not quite, before turning back towards the parchment on his desk.

"No, and what is it that you want from me Mr. Potter?" The contempt rolled off of his tongue in waves, and he then proceeded to sit back in his chair, looking particularly guarded.

He stilled, lapsing into a long, withdrawn silence and looked searchingly at the man's face. There was only a blankness.

Harry felt a lump well in his throat, knowing full well at that moment that the summer meant nothing anymore. The long, bored hours he spent staring at the infirmary ceiling, potion after potion and only the hesitant sympathy of the man before him getting his mind off of the white walls. The near-friendly conversations between them. The feeling that maybe the man gave a damn about what happened to him. Like wisps of smoke that had hung in the air and ripened it with the scent of pinewood, those experiences were only just real enough to convince him that they were actually there. The smoke was only a vestige of a fire that was already gone by now and, whether it disappeared because he tried to catch it or not, it would nonetheless never come back.

As Harry stared unabashedly into the black, impenetrable eyes of what he could have called his former friend, he knew that there was more than just a desk that separated the two.

"Nothing." His voice wilted a little more with each syllable and, looking towards the ancient stone walls if only to derive a sense of place, he stepped back to the door again and rested his hand on the doorknob.

It stilled for a moment, unwilling to turn, as if waiting for something. Anything. A hastily yelled, "Get out!", or a hate-ridden "Foolish boy..."; anything. Yet nothing accompanied him, nothing accompanied the silence. The silence was just as thick and impenetrable and lonely as the gleam in the man's eyes.

Silence: it was at moments like these that he knew the worst was going to happen. It was right at these moments, the moments that Uncle Vernon stopped his winding rant, stopped his pacing, his yells, spun on his heel and just peered right at Harry with his beady eyes that the boy was the most afraid. If there was one thing his uncle could do right it was to effectively use the tool of silence- he'd go completely still, say absolutely nothing, let his eyes harden with hatred, and allow the silence to fill the room with the inescapable sensation of dread. And Harry, young and afraid, having liquid lead fill his lungs, would break the silence with a hesitant "Sir?".

That was always when the first punch came, and it was the punishment for breaking something so inexplicably strong, and anxious, and sanctified as the precious silence. He stirred from his ruminations, focusing on the feeling of cold doorknob against his fingers before roughly grasping and turning it, and leaving the office. Not even a goodbye.

It didn't matter anyway, not really. It was only one more person who hated him and, if he were entirely frank with himself, it was only a drop in the bucket. It meant absolutely nothing and to get attached was utterly useless. His steady walk turned into wobbly fumbles down the deserted hallway as he quickened his pace, taking shaky breaths.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It never meant anything, it never will, get over it you freak." he spat harshly to himself, speaking a low, roguish whisper. He took a sharp turn into an even more empty hallway, stopping to place his hands firmly against the wall and bow his head.

Harry felt his eyes sting, resolutely clenching them shut. "Suck it up, already!" He tensed his shoulders, digging his arms more and more harshly into the stones. His hands ached. "God dammit, don't cry; you're stupid, you're so stupid and gullible to think he wouldn't hate you! Who wouldn't, you idiot? Freak, freak, freak..."

He stilled, breathing heavily, before beating into the wall. A bubble rose out of his chest, making him want to scream into open space if only to fill the silence.

"Harry?" Oh God. No. Did someone hear that? Unwillingly, his still-dry eyes pried open, peering straight at the stone walls and looking in his peripheral vision at the stout, slightly quivering figure to his left.

Neville. It was Neville. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" He was timid.

Harry still refused to make eye contact with him and focused on the sensation of gritty stone on his hands. "What are you doing here, Neville?"

"I, well, I, you were out for a long time, you see," he stuttered, feet shifting guiltily, "and, and, I heard you tell Hermione and Ron you were going to the kitchens but it looked like you were heading to the dungeons and after a while the two of them went out to find you 'cause you didn't come back for a while and I was curious so I headed down here to find you..."

"Okay." He hated how weak his own voice sounded, "Alright." If only Fawkes was here... where was the bird anyways?

Neville frowned slightly, "Are you okay, though?" he asked more insistently this time, "I thought I heard you say... say something, and I'm worried."

"I'm fine." Harry ruthlessly suppressed the red that was rising on his neck towards his cheeks. He stayed silent for a moment, calculating, before flipping over and leaning his back against the stone wall. "Can you leave me alone now?"

The other boy looked as if he were going to slink back towards the common room but quickly gathered his courage. "No, I don't think I should." He crossed his arms, trying not to look like a petulant child. "You tell me what's wrong or we both walk back towards the common room, either way I don't think you should be left alone."

Harry bit back the retort that was almost frothing out of his mouth, understanding even in his emotional haze that the boy was just trying to help no matter how misguided that help might be. His jaw clenched tightly and he walked in the direction of the Gryffindor tower, Neville trailing behind before remembering his place and walking side by side with Harry.

The other boy stumbled a little, struggling to keep up pace. "So you don't want to talk about it?"

"No."

Neville chewed the corner of his lower lip, scratching nervously at his elbow. "You should talk to someone, though."

Harry felt as if his chest were collapsing, briefly remembering when he had left the infirmary for the first time over the summer and Snape had mentioned that he should talk to someone. Yeah, well, look at what good that did him. He had chosen to confide in the man, to trust him, and he just... he just...

A hand shook his shoulder, "Harry?"

He tilted his face towards Neville, vision going oddly bleary as his anger dissipated. "I'm sorry for worrying you." he apologized, "I just... this past week has been difficult an all. I'll be fine."

The other boy seemed reassured as his shoulders dipped, and no more words were said between them.

As Harry stepped through the portrait door, threw hasty greetings to a concerned Ron and Hermione, and decided to curl up under the covers of his four-poster bed, Neville stopped.

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"Can I talk to you guys a moment?" he whispered, raising his face in the air and peeking over the corner to make sure Harry wasn't lingering in the dormitory hallway.

"Go ahead," Hermione said, waving an arm towards him while Ron stacked some stray pieces of parchment. "Where did you find Harry? We went to the kitchens but we couldn't..."

Neville looked downward and plucked some lint from off of the sleeves of his robes, "That's the thing- he wasn't near the kitchens at all, he was in the dungeons."

Ron flushed, mouth curling into a tense frown, "What was he doing down there? He lied to us?"

Hermione pushed his arm chidingly, "Let him tell the full story."

The boy threw a cautious smile towards her, leaning forward towards the congregation of people in a conspiratorial manner. "When Harry didn't come back for a while, I wanted to see if anything was wrong and I had sort of saw him heading in the direction of the dungeons so I went down there. I didn't mean to, well, eavesdrop or anything but when I got there, I saw him in a hallway and I just sorta listened in..."

Ron had since abandoned the task of gathering pieces of parchment and listened intently to the quick whispers. "He was talking to himself and he was saying... he was calling himself names and seemed really broken up about something."

The girl felt worry and suspicion lining her gut. Harry went to the dungeons, and what's most striking is that he had lied about it. What would he go there for if he didn't want anyone to know what he was doing? The only reason would be to...

Neville interrupted her train of thought, "I think, I think we should be really good friends to him this year. He's always been so great to us and there's something bad going on with him... I don't know what yet, but I know he's not okay."

Fidgeting, Hermione felt words rising out of her throat like expanding yeast. "He had a really, really bad summer Nev." she admitted, voice sounding raspy. "He got really hurt and had to stay at Hogwarts since late July."

The boy perked up, "What happened?"

The girl felt like her chest would burst, it was as if she was a student desperate to sound smart in front of the class. "He..." she shut her mouth, "I can't tell you, he told me not to and he'll tell you in his own time."

Ron's gut twisted, feeling a mixture of concern, anger and jealousy. "Wait, he told you and not me about what happened to him?"

The other boy gave a wayward glance to Ron, ignoring him. "Well, anyways, what I'm saying is that we should watch him more closely... not that he's going to do anything insane or whatever, but we should be there to give him support when he needs it."

They all agreed.

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uurghh chapter was sort of rushed, sorry about that!


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this. I know, spoiler alert. I'm sorry you had to figure it out this way.

Warnings: minor swearing, violence

Yay Chapter 25, things are going to start going more quickly.

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He woke up in a cold sweat, feeling like little more than a shivering mass of flesh. Disorientation clouded his head in a soupy fog; where was he? He had thought he was in the forest... or was that a dream? His head pounded and he couldn't see... was he blind? No.. no.. it's only nighttime. He lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, rubbing his expanding skull, feeling dim surprise that there was a mulch like, muddy texture crusted on his slick hair.

Groping the air, Harry thought that maybe he actually was in the forest... somehow... he couldn't remember going there. Why would he be there in the first place?

His tired legs twisted and he felt a something obstructing their movement... no.. what was it? A tree? Had he wandered into the forest and a tree fell on them...? No, that makes no sense... it didn't feel like a tree, it was almost slimy. Was it a dark creature, dragging him deeper into the forest... opening its jaws lined with sharp teeth... devouring him...

His heart sounded like a discordant drum being pounded intermittently into his own ears, sometimes so strong that it felt like it was physically rattling his chest yet other times so soft as to be unnoticeable. What was it that he was so afraid of again?

_God_, his head hurt, and arms and chest and especially his hands. It was as if something had sliced into every nerve on his body... or, the feeling he got after the burning a while ago. Wouldn't he have remembered it if he just burned now?

His limbs battled against whatever was grasping him again... the beast was there again... puncturing his legs with its long, carved claws, dragging him further... he couldn't escape...

He wanted to scream, to cry out, he wished Snape was here. Or Fawkes. It felt like there was a weight on his chest, he couldn't move. The beast was perched on his belly, making it impossible to yell out.

Suddenly the weight evaporated like water droplets on grass drying under the sun's intense heat. It was gone, and the thing around his legs wasn't so scary anymore. Harry sat up, feeling around in the darkness, and disentangled himself from... from... bed sheets? Like a blind man, he felt the fleecy texture of the fabric and realized almost immediately that the surface he was lying on was much too comfortable to be a forest bed.

Last night... last night... had he talked to Neville? Yes, then he went back to the tower. The boy kicked away the sweaty sheets and cautiously peeked through the crack in the curtains on his four-poster bed. Everyone was asleep.

Carefully, he slid them open and slinked against the wall to an adjoining bathroom. He shut the door behind him and for an extra measure of safety stuffed a towel in the crack under the door.

Harry shielded his eyes from the sudden flood of light when he flipped a switch, squinting every now and again until his eyes adjusted. The wall gave him a sense of stability and he stumbled around until his hands clamped onto a sink with a mirror above it.

"What the..." The reflection stared back at him with saucer-like eyes, ashen face lined with red scratches and streaks of brown earth. He pawed at the sludge hastily, looking at his hands and feet coated in mud and leaves. How did...

The frantic breaths filling his chest felt like they weren't his own any longer, it was as if there was someone else in there with him too. He had been out in the forest. Somehow, someway, he had been in a forest and... and... he didn't remember going out, or he hit his head and forgot, or... or... even worse, he didn't do it of his own will.

Someone could've been controlling him. He stumbled back, shying away from the mirror yet finding himself unable to escape the damning evidence. "What did I do?"

Scenarios flooded his head to the brim, making his eyes glass over. He could've hurt himself. Or someone. Or something. That could happen again, whatever it was.

The ache in his hands increased the more he grappled the cool sink edge, and the more pressure he placed on them, the more the pain escalated out of the invisible ball in the center and pulsated through the tendrils. It was as if there were delicate designs that had been carved into them with a butcher's knife. Letting his curiosity override the feverish nightmare in his head, the boy pried the delicate glamour apart and almost yelped in shock.

The tendrils had grown like weeds to his upper elbow, branching out into a feathery motif of magic. Intense white light instantly flooded out of the narrow strips of magic on his arms and wavered against the ceiling like an aurora borealis. That... that wasn't possible! Only a day ago the glowing was only just barely touched above of his wrist, yet now it had surged upward with incredible speed.

The glow had never been this fast to grow and that dreadful thought leaked through Harry's body, settling in his stomach like old algae at the bottom of a lake. He scratched his inner arms, wanting desperately to peel off his own skin. He remembered the constant dreams of instinct literally burning him alive and, like two neurons snapping together, he finally understood.

_The forest_. The forest had something to do with his dreams which had something to do with his arms which had something to do with the phoenixes and... and...

He quivered, fidgeting mercilessly, wanting to escape himself. He didn't want this. He didn't need this. But he was trapped, caged like an animal, caged like he was back at the Durselys' with the bars on his window in second year but this time there was no Ron with a flying car to save him.

He could not escape this, it defined the very air he breathed. It was the very core of his magic and even if he ripped himself apart, skin from muscle, and muscle from blood vessel, and flesh from bone, it would always be apart of him. It was as tangible as the blood that traversed through his veins, yet it was so more than just that- it was more connected than merely by body, it's more than mere magical vessels that grew on his hands and arms. Quite possibly insane, or perhaps being the most introspective that he could ever be, Harry understood in that very moment that the magic in his hands was intertwined with his very being. It resided in that mystical, undefined space that exists just past where the synapses end and the self begins. It was the most permanent, irrevocable and powerful of magic- it was soul magic. It was the _Old magicks_.

He choked on air, feeling like a branded cow. Like he was in line to get into a slaughterhouse. Whatever was going to happen to him, whatever destiny he was tied to, was going to happen soon.

He pressed his hand hot with magic to his mouth to try and muffle the sound of his raspy breathing before casting a silencing charm over the perimeter of the bathroom. He wanted to scream, to belt out into air until his lungs were so empty that he felt dizzy. Instead the boy cuffed the edge of the sink, feeling rage surge in his gut, set his blood alight with fire, and force his hands to clench into fists and before bashing into the mirror.

Soon screams of rage accompanied the shards of glass that dug into his palm, until he slammed into the mirror for so long that his arms were completely coated in blood. Stopping momentarily, the boy looked into one of the remaining pieces of mirror and felt shock at the crazed gleam in his eye. That wasn't him. That couldn't be him.

He stopped, breathing heavily. It took only a few minutes for the adrenaline to dip downward and his arms to hurt like hell on earth.

The ache of magic had not abated at all and that, on top of that, the glass shards impaled in his arms created an unbearable acidic sting. He stumbled backwards, wondering just what he had done, and fell into unconsciousness.

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He woke up early with the sun just barely peeking over the expanse of green hills, the sound of chirping making a groan emit from his dry mouth. The boy was so tired, he didn't want to wake up yet. It was only a Saturday anyways so there was nothing he had to do in the first place, unless Hermione nagged him about doing his homework.

Something soothing was dripping onto his hands, yet it felt as if it were going right through his skin, quieting the swell of magic beating against his palms and spreading throughout his entire body. The moment the drops of liquid touched his the surface of his arms, it was as if it turned into a vaporous liquid hitchhiking on the back of his cells and removing all pain.

Curious, the boy opened his eyes to find himself staring at a chilly, tiled ground coated in glass and random spots of red. The more his eyes followed the trail of glass, the more dried red that seemed to be crusted over the floor and when he finally tilted his tired head to his arms, he flinched in shock.

A phoenix was hunched over his arms, engrossed in the task of dripping tears over the surface of his arms. The boy's left arm was covered in crusty, brown-tinted blood only to be distilled by the translucent water on it. That was his own blood.

"Fawkes?" His voice sounded gruff in his own ears.

The bird threw a chilled glance in his direction before going back to healing him. He felt light-headed even though he was lying on the ground and judging by the shards of mirror everywhere, he could tell that he messed himself up really bad.

Incoherent images of anger, fear, and a whisper of 'old magicks' rung in his head, furthering his sensation of dizziness. Had he hit his head, too?

A knock on the door. Or had he just imagined that? "Hey! Who's in there?" a rugged, Irish voice asked. Seamus.

Fawkes stilled, his feathers ruffling up in the air like a wary dog with raised hackles.

"I am." Harry said, trying yet failing to disguise his raspy voice, "I'll be out in a little bit."

"Yeah, well, you've been in there forever! And I've been waitin forever! I haven't even heard water running, it's been dead silent in there, and if you don't get out in five minutes I'm coming in." His accent grew thicker.

The boy's throat constricted, and he waved Fawkes away, trying to brush the glass into a pile and pricking his fingers. Oh god, the mirror is broken, what's he going to do about the mirror?

Suddenly he slapped a hand to his forehead and remembered that he was a wizard. Groping for his wand and finding out he left it in his trunk, the boy waved his empty hand towards the mirror with a whispered "Reparo!"

The shards of glass immediately shot back into place, once again forming a seamless oblong mirror. Sending hasty 'scourgify's', 'reparo's, and other spells flying in random directions throughout the room, the boy spelled the blood off of his hands and pajamas as well as the mud off of his face.

Fawkes landed onto his shoulder, lending him silent support. "Hide out the window," he whispered, and the bird did so hesitantly. Jumping slightly, the boy just then remembered to place a glamour of his faintly glowing hands and arms.

Letting himself have a sigh of relief, he grappled with the doorknob and twisted it open to be rejoined with his dorm mates. Seamus growled at him, before shoving him harshly out of the way and going into the bathroom.

Harry spun, feeling his world tilt after the other boy had pushed him, and saw expanding black dots cloud his vision. He grasped a bed post and used it to support himself. Suddenly Neville was standing before him- _how did he get there so quickly?_- telling him he looked pale and shaky in a slurred voice. He must have lost a lot of blood...

Settling down on his bed, it took another moment before the boy regained his sense of place. "We should take you to the hospital wing..."

His fervent protestations fell of deaf ears, and the boy was then dragged down multiple flights of stairs before plopped for the third time in two months on a hospital wing bed.

"What's wrong?" a bustling Madam Pomphrey asked, checking over his pale form hastily.

"Just feeling a little dizzy...", "He virtually passed out!, and "I swear he almost died!" was the range of replies she got from the group of boys and, before he knew it, he was tucked under a series of covers and hit with a multiplicity of diagnostic charms.

Harry thought that he was dozing from time to time because every few seconds his eyes opened again and he was staring at an entirely different scene than before. This happened three times until, on the third time, suddenly a wary Professor Snape was standing over him with a grim expression. "What's wrong with the boy?"

Ron appeared to have been pushed aside by the man, as if the professor had rushed into the room, and was about to say something indignant before Neville shook his shoulder to remind him that this was a teacher. A rather mean one, at that, who wouldn't hesitate to drain Gryffindor's points in the negatives.

Pomphrey pursed her lips together in thought, "He's not hurt physically, but it's as if copious amounts of blood disappeared from his body. I've determined it's a moderate anemia he's suffering from." she informed, "What surprises me is that he doesn't have a history of this occurring, yet he does appear to be low on iron and blood sugar."

Suddenly a series of potions- all red, drippy and metallic tasting- were stuffed down his throat by none other than Snape. The man pushed Poppy aside from time to time, looking like a highly territorial animal, and performed many more diagnostic charms even though the woman mentioned multiple times that she had already done so. The mediwitch, of course, looked like a mixture of offended and indignant yet said nothing.

Soon Ron and Neville were herded out of the hospital wing and he spent the rest of the day dozing in and out of semi-consciousness. At the end of it he felt a little less light headed. Looking up towards the metal head board, he saw a watchful Fawkes eyeing him and smiled at the bird. The phoenix jumped onto his arm, letting Harry pet his feathers while the boy tried to piece together a disjointed memory of what happened before he passed out in the bathroom.

Eyes shifting over to his left at the figure that appeared in his peripheral vision, he found himself looking at Professor Snape. Harry remembered that he hated him now and felt his eyes sting. He said nothing, not ready to hear whatever vicious words the man would spew at him for taking up the man's precious free-time by getting himself hurt again.

Poised in a tense position, as if trying to protect himself from the tirade that would surely follow the silence in a few seconds, he fearfully watched the man fill chest with air, preparing to speak. The words that came out of his mouth did not contain _freak_, nor_ I hate you_, or even _worthless_, and were enough to surprise the boy into speechlessness.

There the man sat for a moment, steadying himself, and watching the boy with dimmed black eyes. "Don't scare me that again, daft boy. I could've gone into cardiac arrest by seeing you here again."

That was the happiest Harry had ever felt in weeks.

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aww, isn't that sweet?

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	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

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It was a modestly warm, dry Sunday morning when Harry was released from the hospital wing with Fawkes in tow. He couldn't believe he'd once again managed to get himself back there and it seemed no matter how hard he tried he always just did stupid stuff like, well, flying over the Great Lake at night and yesterday's "mirror incident", to name a few.

Quite frankly, it scared him to see himself that way, so angry and afraid that he just lashed out and got himself hurt- even more concerning is that, with the latent powers he had acquired in his hands, he could easily hurt other people if he were in the right mood. Harry shivered, thinking back to the moment he had stopped pounding into the mirror and looked right back at the image reflected to him. That was the moment he felt he didn't know who he was anymore. Freak, not-a-freak, attention mongerer, good friend, insane- just what was he anymore?

He'd be whatever he had to be to keep his hands secret. There had been too many close calls, like the accidental magic during DADA, and the possibility that Seamus could have walked in on him all bloodied and glowing at any time. He would have to be even more careful than he usually was, especially now with his hands becoming more "reactive" than they had ever been before. He could hurt other people and, even if it were Draco Malfoy calling his mom a mudblood, he was going to make damn well sure that he didn't. He couldn't help but shudder when he imagined what would happen if his secret got exposed and... well, the point is, he has to be cautious for whatever was coming.

_Soon_. That was the one word that reverberated in his head like the waves of sound that would echo off of an overlarge, baritone drum. The boy just knew it. He could feel it deep within himself like how a man with a broken arm can tell a storm is brewing from the ache in his bone. His hands, this 'destiny', the dreams, the phoenixes- everything- was all just waiting to culminate into one great event which would completely change the course of Harry's life. He wished it wouldn't, he wished he could just keep a scrap of normalcy, but everything decided to happen to him. He was fate's favorite play toy.

Nonetheless, he'd go on with life like everything was fine. He'd pass around the quaffle with Ron, he'd help Neville with potions and watch Hermione dig into stacks of books with the occasional eye roll. It would also help to refrain from punching mirrors. He'd pretend like everything was great until whatever is going to happen to him, happens to him. Although, if his sense of mental-preservation allowed it, and his curiosity overwhelmed him, he wouldn't mind finding out more about '_old magicks_'...

With those ominous yet comforting thoughts in mind, the boy set off from the hospital wing to the Gryffindor common room, spending the rest of the quaint Sunday doing homework and saying yes, he is still alive to various people. Hermione wasn't so convinced.

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School commenced with its usual flare and, slowly, Harry got used to the routine that came with it. As his roles slipped from school to dorm to Great Hall and back again, the boy derived a slight comfort in not having to worry about anything disrupting his schedule. By this point in time people got tired of going out of their way to purposely make his day worse, and while he was still treated coolly by many students, it was in no way as bad as it was before. It was almost as if they had forgotten about him, which made the boy smile stupidly to himself from time to time.

The boy grew to enjoy classes which were pleasantly dull, like History of Magic, or Divination, which were filled to the brim with the inane drivel spouted by the professors and had little to no practical magical application. They gave him a little bit of leeway from having to worry about controlling his performance in class, which became a near constant worry on his mind, especially in Transfiguration. It seemed that ever since the first week, McGonagoll had taken to watching him like a hawk, all because he forgot his strength and transfigured the damn dishplate into a mushroom too quickly.

The magic that resided in his palms seemed to try and do anything to leap out and affect everything within its vicinity, and actively trying to control it in some manner was a task the boy was entirely unaccustomed with. Many times he had found himself performing something to a level that was far too advanced and he often could not find a proper balance between using no magic at all and using it in an overpowering way. This, of course, resulted in many suspicious glances thrown his way by the students because his participation had always been mediocre in class.

Harry knew the first time that he had been asked to be tutored by someone, when such a thing had never occurred before in all of the time he spent at Hogwarts, he was in deep trouble. Not able to deny the poor kid, Harry agreed. He probably wouldn't of if he had known that that was only the beginning.

Ever since then, more people started taking notice of his latent magical talent and asked him for help too. At first this was confined to people only in his year but this quickly expanded outwards to include first years and even three or four seventh years. The boy could've sworn he even saw a few kids with concealed Snake crests begged him to show how Aguamenti worked.

Shrugging sheepishly at the jealous glances Hermione threw him every day or so, Harry's reputation as a 'good tutor' became quickly known until the numbers of kids he taught outshined that of Ravenclaw's prefects. Even though he continually told himself that he shouldn't be doing this, that it was dangerous, suspicious looking, and this would ultimately be the death of him, the boy couldn't help but have the greatest feeling in his chest when he'd see that proverbial light bulb pop above someone's head.

As his teaching reputation surged upward, his performance in class did too without him even noticing it. He didn't really notice that he was, time after time, one of the first students to successfully perform a spell or complete a complex project. The boy may not have admitted it to himself yet, but he loved the unfamiliar feeling of being praised by teachers and the resultant academic achievement. He loved the feeling of magic in his hands being freed; it was like he could feel the very core of himself releasing something and letting it flow out of his hands. The sensation resonated deeply within some part of himself.

Magic before always seemed, well, hard. In everything except for defense, it was a daily struggle to get his core open and airy and accepting... it was almost like he had to physically drag it through his veins and get it to shoot out in an often ineffective result. But now, his magic accepted him and he accepted it. At first it was as if they were two separate entities living in the same place, but now it felt as if it were truly apart of him, something not necessarily controlled by him but more so a symbiosis between him and the magic which occurred. He couldn't believe that it was only now that he recognized his magic with such clarity in all his time at Hogwarts. It had its own personality and feelings, and it reacted differently to different situations, as well as to other cores, but he knew if he tried to describe this to somebody that they would give him an odd look and cart him straight off to St. Mongo's, so he refrained. It sounded insane, after all, but to him it was so vibrantly real. It was so vivid, in fact, that the question in his mind morphed from 'how can I see it?' into 'how can other people _not_ see it'?

One sunny morning, Harry felt that his magic was being particularly restless and decided to take a walk through the grounds. He found that often this was effective in quelling whatever anxieties tended to leak out from his head into his core, and had started doing this regularly. Fawkes, of course, was perched on his shoulder and seemed to be enjoying the boy's recent relaxed attitude.

Tracing along the dormant, gritty stone walls of the castle he circumvented, he had looked out towards the Forbidden Forest that was some distance away from him at the moment. The boy didn't know how he felt about it and avoided thinking on it whenever he could, often averting his gaze because it reminded him too much of the worrying dreams he'd been having, yet on this particular day he just stopped and stared.

It looked like it always had- lush, green and properly ominous. Harry, knowing he hadn't done much to sate the growing curiosity bubbling in his stomach as of late, carefully approached right to the very edge where the grass was no longer tidy that marked the beginning of the untamed forestry. The boy squinted, taking a step further, and peered through the vast expanse of trees, as if trying to rekindle the lost memory of his going out into the forest that one night back a while ago. The forest felt like it always had yet there existed a weightiness which wasn't previously there only a couple of months ago. It reminded him of the Great Lake.

He peered into its depths that looked so much like the black recesses that existed within the lake, feeling like he should attach some meaning to it all but finding none he knew of.

_Soon_. The word popped back into his head again, making him immediately anxious.

"You shouldn't be here yet."

Harry jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to the unexpected, faintly dreamy sounding voice that sounded in his left ear.

It was only Luna. Placing a hand on his booming chest, the boy grinned with a chagrined expression. "Don't scare me like that," he laughed. Fawkes settled closer on Harry's shoulder, watchful. He was waiting for something.

Luna blinked, smiling back. "The house elves told me that you should be prepared."

The boy felt a weight of horror drop in his stomach, "What? Prepare for what?"

"Such strange little creatures, don't you think? They are rather perceptive. All they told me was to tell you 'soon.'" she proclaimed, grasping her necklace stringed with odd little figurines and staring up towards the sky.

Harry tapped her, "Are you sure they didn't say anything else to you? It's really important, Luna."

She ignored him once again, still looking upwards. "The nargles say that birds are coming here." she commented blithely, and thrusting her pointed finger to the air, added, "Look, there's one now!"

The boy blinked, searching the skyline until he found what Luna was looking at. When he did, his face paled to the color of soggy oatmeal.

A phoenix. It was a phoenix. Not unlike Fawkes, yet its delicate plumage was a combination of deep and light greens. "That can't be possible. Phoenixes tend to avoid populations of people, right? They live in solitude, right? What would it be doing here? I'm not awake, I can't be awake."

She peered at Harry with glassy eyes, watching his expression darken with untold horror. "They tend to get together when something huge is about to happen, at least that's what the nargles tell me."

The boy trembled like a card house in a gust of wind. The green bird beamed right at the boy, appraising him, before swooping through the sky and settling on his other shoulder. She stared jealously at Fawkes.

"May I?" he asked, and the bird lowered its head so Harry could feel his soft feathers. "And there are more of you on the way?"

Yes. There are more of them.

Phoenixes. Phoenixes are coming to Hogwarts and that could only mean one possible thing: _Soon_.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

two chapters in one day? You lucky, lucky readers. Anyways, I hope you like it.

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It had been only a few days and the influx of phoenixes was becoming increasingly noticeable by other students. They'd chatter in the hallways about how they saw a big, bright bird swoop by the window in Professor Binns' class, or how one almost landed on their heads on the grounds. Even the teachers were caught hypothesizing the sudden liking that phoenixes had taken to Hogwarts.

Whenever a brave student would interrupt a lecture by commenting on the number of birds, the professors would join in on the enthusiasm as they too had never experienced anything like this in their lives. Seeing these birds was rare and many had only ever seen them in textbooks with blurry moving pictures. Hermione was having a field day, in other words.

"Phoenixes tend to prefer solitude, and the magnitude of their affiliation to light magic makes them shy away from groups of people in any number." commented a ghostly looking Binns' in History, "I suppose that there has to be something of such great light power to draw them in towards Hogwarts for any sustained amount of time, despite the number of neutral or dark magic students in the school."

Multiple Gryffindors tensed and threw wary looks towards to the Slytherins on the other side of the room, who growled in response. Harry, meanwhile, glanced towards his glamoured hands with thinly concealed dread.

Thankfully, no one noticed how attracted they were by Harry's presence yet, and the boy made every attempt he could to stay inside lest he became a nesting ground for the pesky things. The few times he had stepped foot outside, he was bombarded with talons trying to take hold of his shoulders and squawking at him for any sort of attention. He could only hope they wouldn't find a way inside the school, or find out how the owls got in every morning to deliver papers and such.

Everybody had just stopped pestering him about the Daily Prophet articles and it certainly wouldn't help him if those damned birds followed him everywhere! Each day he warily watched the clerestories that owls flooded into, and each day he breathed a sigh of relief that a phoenix hadn't managed to find it. _Yet._

With everything that was happening to him lately, it was only a matter of time. That feeling was only heightened by the increasing pain in his hands and the slow, burning crawl of the magical tendrils up his arm. For the past week, he'd wake up in the middle of every night, puncturing his tongue with his teeth in order to keep himself from crying out in pain.

It ached and tightened, but most of all it burned. It was like his arm was being slow roasted over a searing, torrid hot fire. It was a near indescribable sensation that he could truly only compare to the feeling of boiling water on a stove top and having some of the water slosh onto your skin except that it was acid, it expanded all over and the sensation was a constant source of misery.

With the flaring pain, it also became much, much more difficult to seem like he wasn't being dipped into a vat of acid daily. This, on top of his recent lack of sleep, made his mood snappish and angry.

The only thing which relieved the burn was Fawkes, who had since become a constant companion to classes and the dorms. His friends and especially the other students questioned this, and he truly considered telling Fawkes to downplay their friendship because it was suspicious, but the pain in his hands and arms made him forgo that idea.

Fawkes also served to make his magic less... _volatile_. Like how the water in boiling pot burns him, it also simmers over the edge and crackles on the stove too. In other words, the accidental magic that occurs around him is more common and has even more dramatic consequences. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he really didn't, but if they annoyed him it wouldn't- it wouldn't end too well for them. Anyways, somehow, the affable phoenix grounded him and made the stinging magic sloshing against his hands calmer. For this Harry was eternally thankful.

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Ron tapped his boot against the ground, "You sure you don't want to go to Hogsmeade with us?"

"I'm not really feeling like it, you two go have fun." He wouldn't allow the disappointment to seep into his voice. He couldn't go outside, anyways.

Hermione pulled the knit cap over her bushy hair and wrapped a scarf tightly over her neck, "You really should get out, you know. I mean, the only thing you've been doing is tutoring and school and disappearing off into your dorm with the Headmaster's phoenix."

The other boy smiled cheekily at her, "And you're the one to talk." he laughed, with a roll of the eyes before she jabbed him with a pointy elbow.

Harry blinked, amused, "I have stuff I need to do."

"You always have stuff you need to do! C'mon, you can spend one day outside, right? It's the first snow fall of the year. This is the third Hogsmeade weekend you haven't gone out."

The boy was sorely tempted, his mouth watering at the thought of a warm butterbeer. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Just then two pair of hands grasped his elbows from behind, and started dragging him, making Fawkes rocket up and off from his shoulder into the air. "Hey, stop it!"

"Let's get-"

"-his shoes and go out already!" a mischievous voice laughed in his ears.

Fred and George. Just his luck.

Far from helping Harry escape from his captors, Hermione and Ron's face broke out into wide, Cheshire cat-like grins as the two raced off and came back with a pair of boots. Five minutes later, the boy was sloppily adorned in a winter robe, boots, scarf, and mittens, and was then summarily dragged out of the school.

"Let go! I need to... I have work I need to do!" He struggled, knowing that in any moment he'd be outside and then there would be a flock of phoenixes and everybody would know...

Fred grinned, "You're gonna have fun..."

"Whether you like it or not." George finished.

Suddenly a black, looming figure stepped out of one hallway and encountered the group of people who had virtually kidnapped Harry. It was Snape.

The man's eyes swept over them darkly, leaving each of them shivering but not from the cold. It was an incriminating scene, each one of Harry's legs had been picked up by Ron and Hermione while each arm was held by Fred and George. He looked like an poorly assembled hammock.

"_Save me_." Harry mouthed, breaking out into a relieved smile as the color returned to his face. He didn't have to go outside, not at all. Thank fate for these small mercies.

The man peered at each one of their faces momentarily before waving a gloved hand at them and commencing down the hall. Wait. What? Had he just... he let them go!

Ron broke out into nervous laughter when Snape turned a corner, tightened his grip on Harry's leg, and the group continued towards outside.

_Oh no. No. No. No._ Fawkes circled above him like a sentinel. There was no way he could get out of this, the only thing he could do was rush into a store- if he could get there in time.

Soon the congregation stepped outside and Harry felt a rush of fresh air swim over his skin. Suddenly the four exchanged wide, calculating smiles with each other before they started swinging him to and fro. "What are you doing? Hey, don't-!"

Full of speed and mass, when he reached maximum height in the air, they all let him go and he landed in a heap in a pile of snow. His seriousness faltered, and he laughed, packing snow with his mittens and bombarding the group with snowballs only a moment later.

Running from the sudden rush of snow that came flying towards him, he bolted to the side and get even more snow until it escalated into a great snow ball fight. Lines of people broke up as more and more people joined the fight and blindly started tackling each other.

This went on for some minutes before Harry ducked around a corner and started making more arsenal to use in the battle. Face red with laughter and oxygen deprivation, he glanced momentarily up towards the sky and almost went back to making more snowballs before Fawkes settled down and squawked in his ear to warn him.

A flurry of feathers came rushing towards him, at first circling above his head yet now rocketing down towards him. Not thinking to find shelter, the boy bolted through the fight, distancing himself from the others and the castle.

He screamed, instead of laughter his face was now red with fear and cold. He knew the birds wouldn't hurt him- or at least, not _try_ to hurt him- but he screamed out of fear for the need of social preservation and instinct.

It was useless to run he knew and, losing his balance and patience, he plopped into the snow. Immediately a whirl of deep reds and limey greens and custard yellows found any inch of available skin that they could and perched themselves on it, burying him further into the ground by the added weight. They cooed and preened him like a baby bird, nibbling at strands of his hair and toying with his mittens. They all fought for his attention, chirping intermittently and ruffling annoyed feathers at each other to try and get more space.

"Hey! Look over there!" an unidentified voice yelled, interrupting the snowball fight as more people started to stare. _Oh Merlin no. No. No. No. No_. This couldn't be happening.

Harry wiggled, trying to scare the birds off, but they just grasped harder and cawed at him. "Let go! Please!"

People gathered around, watching the spectacle with awe. Potter, sitting in the snow, was covered in at least a dozen phoenixes. The pointed and stared, some running back to the castle and dragging more people out.

Harry could feel the eyes boring heavily at him, skewering him like a piece of meat. The hair on his neck raised with a lovely combination of cold, embarrassment, horror and anguish. He sat for what seemed like an eternity, the birds oblivious and the people exasperated.

It was comically tragic. Laughably horrible. An instance of the most terrible situational irony in the word. And he chuckled, no- he exploded into vicious, hysterical laughter. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved, and the longer he thought about it, the more he laughed. _Fate's a bitch_.

What he assumed was Hermione and Ron pushed through the growing crowd of people towards the front, and when they attempted to place a hand on his shoulder a bright purple bird with a nasty temper nipped at their fingers. "Harry!"

He continued laughing, head feeling dizzy as feathers tickled his nose. Neville and the twins shoved to the front of the procession, guffawing good- naturedly but also feeling awed by the sight.

A couple professors- McGonagall and Snape? Dumbledore?- pushed through the crowd and with effort waved the students back inside with a threat of detention.

Dumbledore clapped a hand onto his shoulder, the purple bird was annoyed yet not moving to harm him. "Well, my boy, looks like they've taken a liking to you." he chuckled, before looking to the birds and adding, "Would you be so kind as to move off of my student?"

The birds huddled even closer to Harry, acting cool and suspicious towards the old man. The Headmaster blinked, momentarily looking baffled by the creatures.

The boy gradually stopped his insane chuckles. "Can you please get off? I promise I'll visit you all, uhh, later or something." Harry tried.

One by one the birds departed back off to the air, circling above him cautiously.

Snape frowned, eyes narrowing at the boy before offering a hesitant hand and pulling him up off of the ground. His friends followed him as the professors and Harry trudged through the snow and back inside.

Once there, he was whisked away to the Headmaster's office despite his protests.

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Snape was pacing back and forth, abruptly turning around every five feet or so and eyes focused into space. "What does this mean, Albus?"

The Headmaster looked nowhere near as grim as the other man. "Why I have no idea, I am not omniscient though it may certainly seem so. We can only speculate at this point."

"Speculate what?" Harry said through gritted teeth, feeling annoyed that they seemed to completely ignore him. His grip tightened around the blanket that was thrown around his snow covered shoulders.

Dumbledore looked at him with a pair of twinkling eyes. "It is rather monumental that a group of phoenixes, some of the lightest and most solitary creatures in the world, have gathered here at Hogwarts when it has never happened at all in this school's history, yes?"

"I guess so."

"Is it not equally astonishing that said phoenixes have, in some sense of the word, all came together towards you?" Dumbledore gave that secretive, infuriating smile he was so fond of.

Harry scratched at the tendrils hidden below the glamour on his arm. When confronted with the man's stare that made him feel like he could see right through him, the boy shivered and said nothing.

Not getting a prompt he expected, the Headmaster continued. "The vast majority of people have never seen or been confronted with a phoenix in their entire lives, and you perhaps have broken some sort of record. This is unheard of, my boy, and these birds are of extreme rarity. That the sheer number of fifteen birds, some having to traverse from all across the world, are attracted _here_ and attracted to _you,_ means huge things." he described, seeming excited.

Harry didn't know how to respond, and he just floundered like a fish out of water. "Well, I mean, u-unusual things often happen to me, I guess. Honestly, it means nothing, really."

The Headmaster sighed, and pretty soon the boy stood and made his way out of the office with Snape pacing behind him. They made their way in silence.

"Don't let what the Headmaster said get to your head, you are not some unconquerable wizard just because a few birds liked you." he said in a long drawl, stopping before the portrait door of the fat lady. "Be safe, don't do anything rash, and for Merlin's sake, go to me if you are in trouble."

The boy gulped, fidgeting under the professor's intense stare. Almost not of his own volition, his mouth opened, and he wanted to say everything that he hadn't been saying. He wanted to say how scared he was. How terrified he felt. How he shivered uncontrollably every time he heard the word '_soon_'. How he didn't know what the hell was happening to him, and if he were going to be okay, and what old magicks were, and what was up with his glowing hands... and why did it hurt, and, and...

But he couldn't. The words wouldn't go pass through the impenetrable barrier that was his constricting throat. "I'll do my best." he settled for.

"I can't help you if you don't let me", Snape replied. "Now sleep."

Harry fidgeted, about to speak the password as the man walked briskly away before, in a moment of blind panic, the boy rushed up towards him and clung around his waist like a child with separation anxiety. The man blinked and, not knowing what to do, turned around and patted his back. "Thanks. Thanks for everything you've done for me, and I know I haven't really said it, but I mean it and I've been meaning to say it. You're great for everything you've done and you didn't have to do it, but you did anyways. I can never repay you and you were there for me, even though I whine all the time and I'm annoying and stuff. It means more than you'll ever know that, that..."

"Hush, incorrigible brat." the man said, the words undermined by the unusually dewy, soft quality of his voice. "You don't have to thank me."

The man proceeded to turn around and walk back towards the dungeons. Harry, ignoring the creeping embarrassment on his face, swung open the portrait door and collapsed tiredly onto his four-poster bed. He was unaware that in a few hours, when he would wake up in the middle of the night in a feverish panic, the word _soon_ would morph into **_now_**.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

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Merlin was perched on a tall rock overlooking a lake enwreathed by trees. He was hunched forward, chin resting on a wooden cane he twirled with weathered fingers. To anyone who had known him, this moment of frailty would have been called uncharacteristic. Gusts of chilly night time air caressed his neck intermittently though he seemed unperturbed by the winter weather and his eyes were resting on the expanding concentric circles in the water, thinking the intangible thought of eternity. Or rather, eternities.

A phoenix rested on his shoulder, watching the man pick at strands of his wiry beard. "Death is approaching me with speed, old bird. We must discuss."

He settled more closely on Merlin's thin shoulder, not bothering to grace such a statement with a reply, and protected him from the incoming gusts of wind.

The elder man smiled mirthlessly, "What shall be done? Whom shall inherit the power after me? You know it is necessary we speak of such things, friend. They must be dealt with."

If the bird were capable of such a thing, he would've emitted a tired sigh. _'A descendant long past this time will gain the knowledge and power, thou knows of this already; thou ought not ask more.'_

He latched onto the statement, "Yes, yet how will this unnamed person handle such powers? It must not run unchecked."

The phoenix ruffled his feathers, indignant. '_Do not insult the Old Magicks so much as to call the selection process undecided and random. Thou are aware that it chooses whom to grant such wisdoms- not just any common urchin of your species is going to be graced with the Magic of the Soul._'

Merlin quieted, staring unseeingly into the lake once again. Even in his moment of uncertainty there existed a wizened gleam in his eye.

The two lapsed into silence, before the bird hopped from one shoulder to his other. '_If it grants thou any relief, I promise thee that I shall make certain myself that this individual is prepared. When he comes into power, I shall impart with him thy knowledge necessary in order to respect the Old Magicks with propriety. A thousand years may pass before one manages to survive The Awakening, yet still I shall grant protection and blessings to any worthy candidate._'

The old man smiled and petted the bird's downy red plumage. "For this I shall be eternally grateful, Fawkes."

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He didn't feel his eyes open in the darkness. He didn't feel a blast of wind from the window to his left. He didn't even feel the curtains rustle against his face, or hear the sound of stifled snores, nor did he even think about the coldness of tile beneath his feet. In the very moment, the moment his regular breathing stopped and his eyes shot open, he was only a collection of sensations.

At that standstill moment in time, only three things remained. The first was the intense, damnable burning. The heat so unimaginably hot that it was as if flames licked every square inch of his skin and muscle and bone and brain, claiming it as its own, as a brother, and making him think that maybe he was now only curling ashes from a piece of parchment thrown into a fireplace. The second was the instinct. The very thing that was buried within the deepest part of his self, unchecked, now blooming to life like a flower that survived despite the fire; the thing that made his joints and muscles move with such purpose that the intensity of it's ardor rivaled that of the heat. Lastly was _The Call._ The singular, all encompassing thought that echoed in his head like the boom of a thunder cloud, the thought which had teased him for so many weeks, leaving him up at night, guiding him, caressing him, breathing on his neck, and wringing him like a wet towel, was finally here.

It was in these short yet arduous moments that everything disappeared in the sweltering heat of the fire within him. Identity, anger, jealousy, notions of self, and friendships were gone like the breath that sustained them. It didn't matter right now, nor did it help him, for his attention was only focused on _The Awakening_.

He had no sense of time, or worry, or of anything around him, yet he felt more than he ever had in his life. With only _The Call_ to guide him, the boy sneaked past dormitories and common rooms, hallways and corridors, and winded through a maze of stairs. He didn't even think to scream at the intense, loathsome heat because such a reaction didn't exist anymore. Equipped only with the vague awareness that he was getting closer, the boy didn't differentiate between the cold tile and the snow covered ground he was trudging in, yet the moment his feet touched the untamed Forbidden Forest, the fire within him surged.

He was sprinting through tall grass and leaping over fallen trees, stumbling and hitting his face against rough bark and pine. The fire was so intense that snow within three feet of him melted instantly on contact, frying the mud beneath him and transforming the terrain into a soft mulch. _The heat, the heat, the heat, the heat_- every nerve in his body screamed, feeling as if they were electrical wires that had been cut, coiling and slapping against his skin like great whips of pain.

By now the flimsy glamour over his hands and arms was broken, making the magical tendrils that reached his upper arms snap back and forth, alternatively curling and springing upwards in exaltation. They danced just underneath the skin, yet longed to join the earth, the trees, the essence of freedom- undiluted, intense streams of light rocketed through the air, seeming so powerful as to slice through the very oxygen molecules themselves. It would be so simple for this _old magick_, the soul magics, to vaporize him into dust in the pursuit of freedom, as was in its untamable nature. Yet somehow, someway, it restrained itself, it confined itself within him, not able or not willing to slice through his skin and rejoin the earth.

He grew tired yet _The Call_ only grew stronger and stronger, a consistency of urgency and need. It was unbearable to resist, not that he was doing so anyways, yet slowing down felt like the act of resistance itself- like heresy. He sped up, the aching in his limbs overshadowed by the heat and the desperate need for oxygen not convincing him to take a deep breath. The forest became a meaningless blur of scenery.

He tripped over rocks and evaded hills until finally he saw a circle of trees clumped together. The boy waded through the leaves with desperation and stopped, staring at the enwreathed area that may have once housed a small lake, and looked up towards the sky.

Phoenixes. Parakeet greens and lemony yellows, shades of lavender and thick butterscotch browns. They shot upwards and swung back downwards, wild and free, calling to each other. Some flew so fast that they only became a blur of color contrasting against the backdrop of black, while others flew with such caution that individual feathers could be defined. It was a dance, intricate and beautiful, but not rehearsed- emanating from their very souls, and coalescing into a great unity of purpose.

He stepped forward, breaking a branch with his foot and causing every glowing eye to direct its attention towards him. Reacting in instinct, he approached the middle of the area encircled by trees and the phoenixes circled around him, flying into one massive blur of colorlessness.

_The heat, the heat, the heat_... the heat returned with a vengeance, making him crumple to the ground. He twisted and turned, rubbing into the earth in an effort to stop the magic ramming against him. His arms bulged, the magical tendrils trying to rip through his skin- the strain was too much, his core was too small, and the _old magicks_ too wild. _The Call_ disappeared, sinking itself into the earth beneath him because he was already where he needed to be, and his vocal cords worked again, making him wretch and scream in sheer, mind numbing pain.

It was going to rip him apart so thoroughly his flesh was turned into little more than dust. It was going to tear at the fabric of his soul in an effort to disentangle itself and he would be no more. He screeched, burning, wondering if Aunt Petunia was right and he was in Hell.

Suddenly the orbs in his palms forcibly detached, yet didn't rip his hands open, and they formed a singular bright mass floating just above his reach. With his last bit of strength, the boy pushed himself up in a sitting position and, feeling the urge to grasp it as it lowered itself towards his chest, had placed both hands into the condensed ball of light.

Immediately a flood washed over him, or at least what he thought was a flood, because it was cold. Glorious, refreshing, breathable and the most welcome sensation on earth: COLD. It washed over his veins and nerves, eagerly sucking the heat from his flesh and making the fire only a distant memory.

His shoulders drooped, relaxing under the quelling flood that filled him like a pitcher of water. The orb then flowed back into his hands and arms, branding his skin with-no, such a phrase was too much like heat- creating silver bands that twisted delicately over the surface of his arm and twined itself in Celtic knots. It stopped at his upper arm and now, for the first time in months, his hands no longer ached. His magic was quiet. His magic was his. His magic was the purest, most original, rare and volatile of all magics- it was_ Old Magicks_. And it was his.

Black dots expanded over his vision, and the darkness claimed him.

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Neville sighed, opening the boy's curtains and shaking his shoulder. "Come on, it's time to wake up."

"Mmmmhm." Ron buried himself deeper into the pillow, lifting a hand into the air and trying to grapple at the curtain in order to stop the flood of light.

"Class starts in thirty minutes, breakfast is almost over." the boy warned.

Ron looked at him in annoyance, eyebrow twitching upwards as he sat up and accepted defeat. "Where's Harry? He's already in the Great Hall?" He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"I think so, he isn't here. You'd think he'd learn how to make his bed, though," He jabbed a finger over at the sheets strewn across the floor.

The other boy looked at Neville, rolling his eyes. "You're such a girl."

He adamantly denied this and blushed, staring at his shuffling feet while Ron got ready and the two went off to the Great Hall. Hermione later joined them, picking up a stack of books.

The girl peered around, hugging her heavy tomes more tightly to her chest. "Where's..."

"Great Hall, probably. We didn't see him in the dorms."

Hermione nibbled her lip. "Alright, you don't think he's still embarrassed about the phoenixes yesterday, right? You know how he doesn't like attention."

Ron felt a jealous growl rise out of his throat, but suppressed it. "It was bloody hilarious, Mione. He's fine."

The girl didn't comment and the three walked off to grab a quick breakfast. Once they arrived, they were baffled when they couldn't find Harry sitting at the Gryffindor Table.

Hermione tensed, yet Neville clapped a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Hey, he probably just got an early breakfast and went to class."

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Soothing warm liquid dropped intermittently all over his skin, though he wasn't awake enough to feel this.

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"Where is he?" she hissed, grasping her quills with sweaty fingers and plopping them onto the table. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"He'll be here, maybe he was studying in the library and lost track of time..." Neville trailed off, shying away at the intense expression on the girl's face.

Ron leaned up from behind the two, "This is Potions class, Snape hates him; he'd sooner die than be late here," he added.

"If we don't see him by lunch, we'll go see Dumbledore or something. There's no need to jump to conclusions," the other boy interrupted.

Snape glared at the three, wondering what they were plotting now.

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Something chirped in his ear, nudging him.

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"Sugar beans." Snape hissed at the gargoyle statue, mouth crumpling in disgust that he had let such words pass his mouth. It slid aside, and the man, with three very worried Gryffindors, entered the Headmaster's office.

He was sure it was nothing. The brat was fine, just feeling adventurous and traipsing outside. He was fine, he had to be.

"Severus! What a pleasant surprise, you never visit!" Dumbledore chuckled, before seeing three concerned students enter the room behind him.

Hermione paced nervously. "Sir, we haven't seen Harry at all! He wasn't in the dorms or the Great Hall or even any of his classes and we're worried."

The man nodded gravely, throwing floo powder into his fire place and popping his head inside. "Madam Pomphrey?"

The four could hear an echo. "Yes, sir?"

Dumbledore tapped his foot. "Is Harry Potter with you at this moment?"

"No, should he be?"

Immediately the Headmaster pulled his head out of the green flames. Snape let an angry, guttural noise arise from his throat, and stepped curtly out of the room.

He was going to throttle that damned brat when he found him.

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oh hohoho, hope you liked this chapter. I would love it if you would review for me, that would make my day!

Also, a note or two:  
1. I don't know Old English, so forgivith me for making Merlin speak more modern than he should've been speaking. I wanted it to feel real, yet I didn't want to jargon-ize the dialogue either, so it was sort of a struggle. If I made mistakes (which I am certain I did) than I'm sorry.  
2. Next chapter is really when you'll be finding out more about everything, so brace yourselves.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing...?

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The old man rested his forehead on the long, spindly cane, shoulders sapping as if relieved of some heavy and unforetold weight.

Fawkes watched him, concerned. '_If I may askith thee, why art thou so interested in the fate of this particular individual that may live thousands of years past this time?_'

Merlin faltered and peered with a dim expression out towards the lake again. The man's eyes gradually meandered to his wrinkled hands and his normally confident, sibilant voice dropped to a dark whisper. "This is a fate I would not wish upon anybody."

In their long friendship, the bird had never seen anything effect him so much. He had always been a foundation which supported the people, yet now he appeared to be crumbling underneath them. Curious, he pressed on, '_Why?_'

It was as if a dark cloud loomed overhead, dimming his face even further. "I would never want anybody to experience the harrows that the Old Magicks have brought me. That's not to say that it is unwelcome, yet such magic is not meant to reside in any individual; it is meant to be wild and free, not contained," his mind drifted off to some lost memory, "that type of power, it changes people. It changed me; hardened me, I suppose. Changed the people around me. It humors me to think that the word Old Magicks, the lightest of all magic, brought such darkness into my life. It is a harbinger of pain and sadness."

Fawkes shuffled, digging his talons into the soft flesh of Merlin's shoulder.

"Too many times I would wake up, feeling a great magnitude of unprecedented heat, feeling my body sapped of all energy or often the antithesis, too much energy. That type of magic, it is too light, too pure, and much too dangerous; a wizard is not equipped to handle it, as such a magical core is too small and weak. The pain, the desperation and the fear- _ye gads_- the fear that thou shalt hurt someone by the immensity of thine power, drains the life from thee quickly. I am a shell of what I once was before the glowing started, and many times I felt that I would've embraced death with open arms..."

The phoenix was chilled to the bone. '_Speak no longer! I shall suffer no more by hearing of thine tragedies!_'

"This is why I ask thee to help whomever is chosen by the Old Magicks and has the misfortune of surviving _The Awakening_. This individual mustn't bear this weight alone. What I am asking of thee is selfish, yet the intensity of my gratitude would span continents, old bird."

Fawkes twisted his neck to look at the trees, _'I have already accepted, thou know'st this. Do not impart with me any more meaningless wisdom on the subject. I want not to hear that my friend has been brooding over such dark things. I consider thee my child.'_

The old man smiled, feeling comforted when the bird started nibbling on strands of his hair, as was his habit even when he head first met Fawkes. Some things never changed, he realized.

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Drip. Drip. Drip.

Harry felt something nudging his cheek, making his eyes squeeze in pain. The boy didn't want to get up yet. He ached horribly; it seemed that with each breath he took his rib cage creaked in response and if he even tried to shift his legs then his nerves would snap in half. He'd rather sleep for a while longer. Yes, it would be much better to lay here for a while, wherever he was.

The unidentified thing nudged him again, making him twist his neck only slightly to grimace up at the figure as his eyes drifted open. "What?" his voice sounded like a raspy vestige of what it used to be. "Where am I...?"

He peered at the stars dotting the sky above his head and the wisps of smoke that formed in the air whenever he exhaled. It was night time and, more importantly, he was outside in the cold.

Abruptly he felt something pop into his mind without hearing anyone say anything, '_He's survived The Awakening._' The sensation couldn't be rivaled by anything he had ever experienced before.

He flinching, jerking his head despite the abominable aching. Squinting, the boy focused his vision on blurs of colorful specters.

The phoenixes flapped their wings and excited trills rang throughout the group. A jumbled mess of words all abounded in his head at once, including: '_Impossible_!', '_This must be the first time since Merl.._.', '_How will he handle the Old Magicks_?'

Harry yelled out at the sharp pain in his head, vocal cords strained, and immediately his hands flew to his ears.

A familiar squawk sounded in the air, and with it a voice in his head ordered, '_Everybody, quiet! He is not yet acquainted with the bond._'

The group settled, disgruntled, and Harry shivered at the taste of cold air in his mouth. Ignoring the tautness in his back, the boy sat up and immediately the phoenixes gathered closer to him, one of them taking residence up on his shoulder while others nested near his legs and cuddled his arms.

Fawkes blinked at him, settling on his left shoulder and nibbling at his hair. '_You are confused, child, I understand. There is much to explain at this time. At this moment you are in the Forbidden Forest._'

He coughed, shivering at the cold air, and immediately questions spawned in his mind like bacteria in a stale basement. He didn't know what to ask first. "How can you talk? What am I doing here? What happened...?"

The bird interrupted, nipping his ear harshly and making him laugh in a dwindled rasp. '_Certain information must be explained first. A story is in order_.'

Harry nodded, allowing the bird to start even as he shuddered in the cold wind.

'_Thousands of years ago, there existed a young man much like yourself. He was, by all accounts, a normal man with a decent life. He had a loving family, enjoyed his work and felt fine with his social position. He lived this way for many years, until one day he noticed that something peculiar had happened to his hands. They were glowing.'_

The boy straightened up, rapt, and felt his stomach shrivel.

'_He was confused by this, and assumed it would go away on its own. He was wrong. As weeks turned into months which transitioned into seasons, the glowing only grew brighter and seemed to travel up his arms. It was a painful process, and during the final month of this occurring, the burning only seemed to get steadily worse. He was a secretive man, who wouldn't allow himself to worry his family with this news, so he endured this alone. Often he'd wake up in a cold sweat, having odd visions of power, until one night he woke up and felt this instinctive burning drive that forced him to travel deep within the woods.'_

Suddenly a memory of fire sparked in Harry's head, making him blink in confusion, yet he didn't interrupt the story.

'_It seemed that something guided him right where he needed to be, leading him to a group of powerful, light magical creatures that had a likeliness to his own magical core in the middle of this forest. He entered the clearing, feeling his burning increase, and at the end was drawn to a ball of light which, when he touched it, solidified his glowing hands into silver. What he had just went through, and what you similarly went through last night, is called The Awakening. Your magic was essentially morphing into an Old Magicks, and last night was the final part of the process, making you a wielder of the most powerful and dangerous magic ever._'

Scenes of leaves and birds, as well as light and pain, flashed before his mind's eye. The boy lifted his hands towards his face with a gasp, inspecting the silver bands curled over his arm that all emanated from the center of his palm. They shimmered faintly in the dark. "What are these?"

Fawkes chirped, '_They are meant to channel your new found powers, like how a wand serves as a wizard's medium of using magic. When you were going through The Awakening, the glowing of your hands was becoming a prerequisite to this. Your hands felt like they were burning the past few months due to this glowing since it is literally replacing part of your hand with condensed magic, yet the aching was due to the extreme build up of magic underneath your skin. In fact, the glowing in your hands serves to reduce the aching and let go of the build up of magic, because otherwise your would've died within days.'_

Harry gasped, exasperated, and the phoenixes around his jerking legs jumped backwards in response. "Are there others like me?"

Fawkes looked faintly saddened, as if trapped in some lost memory. '_No, though many before you have been chosen, none of them have survived The Awakening due to extreme build up of magic during the Final Night._"

The boy's expression crumbled, "What do you mean, chosen?"

The bird settled, '_In every magical core on earth there lies dormant Old Magicks, which is the most wild, powerful, and irreversible of all magics; it is the magic of Soul. This type of magic is very picky, in that it chooses people to awaken in. The Awakening is called The Awakening because it is literally a brand of magic coming to life within you. No one knows why certain people are chosen over others, yet I hypothesize that there has to be a certain quality of the soul in order for it to develop.'_

He nodded, staring at distant point in space. "Why do phoenixes like me so much?" Harry laughed nervously, ruffling the lemony bird's feathers that cuddled further into his side.

Fawkes stopped, thinking for a moment, '_The reason why phoenixes are attracted to you is the same reason why their cores are so light. They are the magical creatures with the highest level of Old Magicks in their cores, so naturally they are known to follow individuals or other creatures that have higher Soul Magic qualities. The reason you understand what I'm saying is not because I am speaking as a human, but because you are listening as a phoenix- we share a common language, which is that of the soul.'_

The boy's head began to ache, and his fingers reached to massage his greasy, mud-covered scalp until a wing waved it away and one of the birds dripped tears on him. The liquid relief instantaneously soothed him, making his muscles quiet.

A lavender bird towards his left chirped, and concerned words popped in his head. '_This is a lot of take in, child. You need rest. There is more you have to know, yet that can wait.'_

He wanted to know what it all meant and what would happen now, yet he couldn't get the words past his strained vocal cords. At this moment, out in the cold, vast expanse of darkness and cuddled next to phoenixes, he was much too tired and much too afraid to prophesize about the uncertainties of the future.

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"You mean they haven't found him yet?" Hermione screeched, face lined with tension. "How haven't they? Where could he have gone off to?"

Neville scratched his earlobe, picking at loose threads perking up from his robe with his other hand. "I don't know. It's only really been a day that he's been gone, since this morning, surely he's..."

"That's stupid! You say that you didn't see him in your dorm, right? Well that could mean he was gone last night and all of today!"

Ginny rested a hand on her shoulder, "Calm down. Neville isn't the villain here and they're doing all that they can to find him." she informed; even though she didn't know Harry very well, she still felt it worrying enough that she should keep her brothers company in the common room.

Fred and George watched them from the fire, waiting for Harry to swing open the portrait door and yell "Surprise!". Dean sat beside the two and, having sneaked out when Seamus fell asleep, was also waiting for the boy's arrival. He was the only other Gryffindor to have overheard that Harry went missing.

Hermione plopped into a wooden chair parallel to a desk and flipped through pages in a large book, unseeing yet comforted by the motion."What if he's..."

The twins came up from behind her,"It does no good to guess, we have no idea. For all we know he could be sharing a delicious spaghetti dinner with Cornelius Fudge and Draco Malfoy in Knockturn Alley."

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The professor gritted his teeth, resuming a harsh pace in the man's office."Where could that damned brat have done?"

"The Order will find him eventually." Dumbledore replied, trying to placate him. He sat before a roaring fire, waiting eagerly for the flames to turn the bright green color and a relieved head to poke out, telling him that everything was fine.

"Useless boy, just like his father, has no consideration that I have a busy schedule and I needn't be up all hours of the night waiting for him like, like he's some sort of prince." Snape spat, his leaden eyes never turning away from the fire.

The Headmaster glanced at the man momentarily, "You don't have to here, Severus," he interjected, pausing, "Why is it that even when I suggest you don't have to do this, that you still are up here for news of Harry? Careful, one might think you care."

The professor recoiled, sneering. "You are fully aware why I must be here, old man. And, no, I couldn't care less about..." he faltered, "about his worthless hide. I merely think that the idiot is out there, walking in the snow, too stupid to remember to put shoes on before running away, and will need to deplete even more of my potions supply."

"Oh, now, Severus, don't speak so poorly of Harry. Surely he hasn't, as you have put it, run away," a twinkle reemerged in his eye, "I can see through your exterior, my boy. I know you; the angrier you appear, the more you care."

Snape glared, not caring to comment. Right when the boy promised to him- _promised_- that he wasn't going to get himself into any more trouble, he went and did just that. Damned child said it right to his face and, foolishly, the man almost believed him.

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Harry rubbed his arms, "Can we continue this tomorrow? I think that now I should sneak back into my dorm before..."

'_You have been unconscious for the last day, child. Everyone already knows that you are missing.'_

The boy paled like day-old porridge left out in the sun, "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he whispered to himself, "I gotta go, now!"

He jumped to his feet, only to crumple back to the ground as his muscles protested. Fawkes looked at him with vague amusement, '_If you'd like I could get someone._'

"No!" the boy screeched, trying futilely to pull himself back off the ground, "They can't see me here. No one can see me here. There'd be too many questions!"

Fawkes landed on his shoulder and picked at strands of his hair.,'_The only other option would be to stay out here, all night, in the cold, until you are properly recovered.'_

Harry took a deep breath, placating the panic that was settling in his chest, and lifted himself to his feet again with the aid of a tree trunk. "I can make it, really. Once I get there I can convince everyone I'm fine and say that... well, I'll come up with something. I can think up good stories on the spot."

Ignoring the protests that poured into his head like thick syrup from the other phoenixes, the boy set off, stumbling and dead-tired, back towards Hogwarts. The others settled for flying overhead to make sure he would make it okay.

Inevitably, Hermione would cuff the back of his head, Ron would shrug, and Snape would lecture him until his ears fell off. It seemed to him now, even with the silver bands on his arms and him trudging through three feet of snow, that some things never changed.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

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He stumbled over a large branch, hugging a tree to keep his balance, and rested briefly before continuing onward. The wind ghosted across his back like a phantasmal warning, making the boy jump and swivel his head with paranoia for the third time. Yet again he saw nothing and sighed, shoulders still tense; the forest was very creepy at night time. Things just seemed to echo in his ears and brush against his legs, breathe heavily on his neck, and scuttle away whenever he looked. The boy couldn't help but think that something was following him.

Fawkes watched this with a wary expression, '_If you keep going this slowly, I will have to contact Dumbledore. It is dangerous to be out in the Forbidden Forest at this time of night.'_

Harry felt a combination of fear, cold and irritation make the hairs on his neck stand up, "I'm doing just fine. I don't need any help," he retorted, bumping his shoulder to make Fawkes startle. The bird was much too calm right now.

_'I can't understand why you are so stubborn, child! You could be warm and safe in bed by now yet you choose to linger outside!_" The bird nipped gently at his ear, scolding him.

His face reddened and he looked down towards his mud coated feet. "Yeah, well, it would raise too many questions if I were found out here..." he trailed off, squinting at the path in front of him.

If he were as truthful to himself as he could've been, he would've admitted that the only reason that he was convinced he should be stepping through dense forestry, at night, with no shoes, nor a wand, was because he didn't want to confront everybody just yet. He was tired- his limbs were heavy, his mind sluggish, and his chest sagging. The cold air, as much as it made his ears sting, and as much as it slapped his pink face like thin sheets of glass, also made his head feel clearer.

If he could just keep his legs moving for a little longer and think just a little sharper then everything would be fine. Just fine. There would be questions, yes, and there would be anger, yet soon everything would blow over. No one would ask anything else and no one would look at him, and if no one looked at him then he wouldn't have to look at himself. Wouldn't have to look at the silver bands branded on his skin like the nine rings of Hell. Wouldn't have to wonder about destinies, damnation or duties beyond Quidditch and class and studying for his OWLs.

Silence settled beside him, chilling his bones even faster than the wind ever could. "Does it end?"

Fawkes blinked in confusion, '_What do you mean?_'

He scratched at the bands on the arms, glancing every now and again at how it shifted and wavered in response to the touch. "Nothing."

"Everything will be fine," the boy whispered inaudibly to himself, making his tired eyelids stung by the wind close partially. He could see the words puff out of his mouth in a small wisp of smoke that expanded and disappeared right as it reached the tip of his nose. If it was a testament to the shortness of his statement, or a prediction of the brevity of his peace, the boy didn't know. He didn't think he'd want to know either.

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Dodging through corridors and hallways, the boy knew he shouldn't be out of his dormitory at this hour. If Snape ever found out, it's safe to say that the man would roast him over an open fire. Or sell his eyes to the local apothecary. Or both. Probably both, now that he thought about it.

Of course, that was only_ if_ the man found out and Draco was much, much too confident in his abilities to even think about the possibility of getting caught. After all, it would be uncharacteristic of him as the Malfoy heir and as a Slytherin to have his plans backfire on him.

Eyes shifting back and forth, the boy ducked and dashed towards the library with a book concealed under his robes. It was an old, perhaps priceless, book that had been shelved for years in the Restricted Section. He couldn't be caught with it and, seeing as how the bustling Madam Pince took inventory every couple of days to make sure nothing had slipped past her hawk eyes, it was with careful thought that the boy decided sneaking under the guise of his Prefect duties would be his only option to return it.

He would've asked that disgusting Umbridge woman, who, for some reason, was infatuated with him and he would've gotten permission too if it weren't for that senile man passing as a headmaster meddling in his business. Honestly, the fact that he had to resort to this sort of... this sort of... _espionage_ was uncouth and decidedly un-Malfoyish.

Yet, days ago, looking at the book through the gleaming brass bars blocking off the Restricted Section... seeing it all dusty and damp from being ignored, placed carelessly like some sort of rag, had tugged at his heartstrings much more than he'd like to admit. He could not have allowed that sort of abuse of ancient texts to go on any longer. And he had borrowed it for a bit, so what? He would care for it far, far much more than that wrinkly hag, Pince. It was worth it, even if it hadn't been quite what he was looking for.

Slipping up a staircase with measured steps, Draco sneaked and slinked into a corner when he thought he had heard something. Right next to him was a disturbing portrait with a fat lady dressed in pink; the things that Dumbledore decorated the castle with were completely beyond him.

The fat lady sniffed, powdering her grotesquely sweaty skin, "Password, dear?"

"What?" he hissed, staring at the thing. "Why would I have a..." Suddenly he stopped, thinking. Password. Why, common room entrances sure did have passwords.

A feverish grin lit up the boy's face like a flashlight tilted at one's chin when they're telling ghost stories. He leaned closer, hearing an argument happening through the door, and placed his ear on the frame of the portrait.

Someone stomped from one side of the room to the other, "Well, I don't know! What am I supposed to do? We're all worried about Harry, not just you, but you sure like to act like it," a voice spat harshly.

Draco perked up, sliding against the frame. His smile broadened, they were talking about the Potter boy. That was just the type of information he needed.

Another person's feet stilled. "You're acting like I know why he went missing!"

The boy's spine tingled.

"Shush up, someone might hear you!" A panicked voice yelled this time.

Ah, so, Scar-head is missing, and apparently no one must know. It would definitely be worth his while to find out more.

Sneaking to the library without getting caught, reluctantly dropping off the book and heading down towards the dungeons, Draco couldn't get the smirk wiped off of his face.

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Something snapped. A stick, or a tree branch maybe. Harry jolted three feet in the air crouched behind a tree despite the lingering pain in his knees, watchful.

"Something's here," he mouthed to Fawkes. "I can feel it."

The bird gripped his shoulder hard with his talons, ducking his head not in fear but in hostility. The boy's breathing was fast and hard, lingering like droplets in the air and almost disappearing only for his breath to rejoin it once again. The tired silver in his arm surged in activity, whipping against the tight, intermittent Celtic Knots as what appeared to be a liquid mercury poured into the glowing orbs in his hands and spread through the tied tendrils.

Something must be watching him, hearing him breathe, waiting. He waited in response, legs starting to burn more as he didn't budge from his squatting position. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, waiting for whatever was there to make the first move.

Nothing. Not a twig creaked, or a branch twisted or even the intermittent smoky wisps of breathing danced on the air besides his. He relaxed, clinging to the bark and pulling himself up. The boy chuckled almost hysterically, "I coulda sworn..."

Suddenly a black mass shifted from behind, moving through the forest with such grace and speed as to bypass cracking any leaves or twigs. It was abruptly in front of him, something shadowed and elongated poised right in his face.

The mass shifted to the left, the white snow reflecting what little traces of light that existed and reflecting it towards the tall figure's face. The shadows and darkness served to accentuate the high cheekbones and leery expression on his face. Snow drifting in the air shot soft, dotty glows to the weapon in his hands- a bow. It was a bow.

"Human," he growled, "What are you doing in the territory of the centaurs?"

He pulled the arrow back threateningly, pointing it right in between Harry's eyes. The boy moved to open his mouth yet, before he knew it, Fawkes bolted in front of him. '_This boy is under the protection of a phoenix. Not just one, but many. It would be in your best interest to put down the weaponry_.'

The unnamed centaur seemed to understand, and lowered his head slightly in what the boy thought was a sign of deference. "If I may ask, why is it that this... _wizard_ is protected by the phoenixes?"

Fawkes titled his chin upwards, '_Have you not divined it in the stars? You must know that one has survived The Awakening. Surely the intense blast of magic would've told you something.'_

As if the bird had flipped a switch, immediately centaurs hidden in the darkness stepped forward, weapons pointed towards the ground. All eyes zipped right to Harry. "This is what Jupiter has been saying? That one has garnered the respect of the Old Magicks?"

The boy took a step backward, tensing slightly when his back hit a tree. Glowing yellows and greens and browns that Harry guessed had to be eyes followed his every movement, gazes meandering down to look at the silver dancing over his arms.

A larger, more sturdy centaur stepped forward from the congregation. "It is true. Mother Earth has willed it, and it has been done. This is no mere boy."

His words rang throughout the land, sparking a collective stamping of hooves on the ground so powerful that the boy felt his body bounce in response. Harry was unsure of what to do. "I'm sorry I am on your territory, I'll get out as soon as I can..."

A slim female stepped forward, smiling and lowering herself before him, "Please, we have meant no disrespect, Wielder. You shall always be welcome on this land. If Bellr'on had know, I promise you he would not have been so rude."

She was different from the others, he could tell. He liked her. "Wielder? What's that?"

The female leaned backwards with an uncomprehending look on her face.

_'It means that you have awakened Old Magicks within your core, which allows you to wield your powers, hence her calling you Wielder_,' Fawkes interjected.

The female leaned forward again, "I apologize, I was not aware that you wouldn't understand. The ways of the the earth are so natural to us that we cannot perceive of how wizards are so..." she stopped, obviously changing what she was going to say, "unknowing of these things."

Harry relaxed, realizing he was safe. He may not be able to understand why they were all so respectful to him now, but he accepted it nonetheless.

The bulky centaur stepped forward, bowing slightly at him. "If I may ask you, Wielder, why is it that you are out here in the wilderness at this time of night?"

"I just woke up here and I'm trying to get back to Hogwarts as soon as I can," he said, tensing his cold toes and arms in an effort to stave off the wind.

The centaur peered at him with narrowed eyes, "It is dangerous to be out here during the night, Wielder. You must feel weak from _The Awakening_, no? And I have heard that the snow affects you humans greatly."

Harry nodded, bowing his head inwards as a particularly strong gust of wind hit his raw cheeks.

"Get on my back."

The boy blinked, and every other centaur immediately started whispering to each other excitedly. Glancing at Fawkes briefly, who nodded back at him, the centaur bowed low to the ground and he stepped on. He grasped onto the coarse hairs lining his spine and abruptly he took off like a bullet into the darkness, making Harry lean forward due to air resistance and gasp at the trees he narrowly evaded. Back hunched and face low to the centaur, the boy could barely open his eyes as the wind scratched at it viciously.

It must have been only fifteen-thirty?-minutes before the centaur stopped, making Harry's face prickle at the suddenly calmer winds that swooped over his face. "This is where you must get off, I am not allowed into... _wizard_ territory."

Harry nodded and slipped off his back, staring at the dazzling lights beaming out of the castle and cutting through the darkness. "Thank you so much, you didn't have to do this!"

The centaur looked thin lipped and started towards him gravely, "May the stars be with you."

The boy felt his lips move of their own accord and, without even thinking, said, "And may Jupiter always rise."

The tightness in his face melted and he offered a smile towards the boy, "You are already showing the signs," he whispered to himself cryptically, before riding off back towards the pack.

Harry blinked and Fawkes settled back on his shoulder, offering a bit of warmth before the two set back towards the castle. '_You have done well, the centaurs have accepted you as an ally.'_

"What?"

'_By accepting the ride, you have gained their trust._' the bird chirped, nuzzling towards him.

The boy trudged, trying to find areas where people already stepped into the snow and the ground was visible, "How did that happen?"

'_Their ways are different from your own; they are closely tied with the Old Ways and with nature. Over time, you will gain a natural inclination to these ways due to your associations with the centaurs and the Old Magicks that runs in your core. Shortly put, it is essentially diplomacy and you've have already shown signs of this knowledge which helps your relationship with them_,' he explained.

Harry gasped, the cold transforming the large exhale into a puff of smoke that hung in the air. "Do they expect anything from me? I can't... I don't have anything... there's nothing that I can do for them."

'_You do not have to do anything, simply your ties to the centaurs helps them. You may not remember it, yet just a moment ago you said a type of old luck farewell to the leader of the pack, and this means that your magic has readily accepted him and his people. Those centaurs are under the protection of the Old Magicks now, even while your conscious self may not know it.'_

"Alright," he said tightly, not understanding, yet not wanting to hear anymore about it either.

'_It is confusing and scary, I know. Over time, however, you will grow to accept its nuances_,' Fawkes consoled, sensing his distress, and pulling a large wing over the boys head and across his ear.

Approaching the castle was both a blessing and a curse and, entering through a secret passage he knew from religiously studying the Marauder's Map, Harry busted into the main foyer shivering and muddy. Abruptly a wave of warm air wafted over his body, making him feel like he just stepped into a hot bath.

Now that he thought about it, he'd have to find someway to get himself cleaned up before he saw anyone. A steamy shower would be really nice, yet a Scourgify would do as well.

Harry leaned towards the bird's ear, "Fawkes, you should go outside and tell the others that I'm safe. Right now it would be too suspicious if they all visited me in the castle, so also say that I'll see them tomorrow or whenever I can."

Fawkes nodded and headed through a clerestory back out into the cold.

The boy leaned forward, resting his hands onto his knees and breathed deeply. Finally some time to himself. In a moment of weakness, which he wouldn't allow himself to indulge in had the bird stayed, he thumped against the wall to his left and slid onto the floor. His feet and his brain and his muscles hurt, and the warm air felt so nice on his cold skin...

His eyes fluttered and his head leaned forward, feeling tired. He'll rest just for a moment, he decided. Close his eyes for a second... that wouldn't hurt...

In the darkness that nipped on the edges of the boy's consciousness, only one sound registered immediately in his mind: steps. The sound of foot steps bouncing off the stairs, dinging into the walls and zipping right to his ears only to hit the barrier that was his aching brain.

Steps. What did that mean again...? Why it must mean... someone is here. Hmm, that's nice.

Wait a second. Someone is here. That means... Immediately, the frayed edges of his thought shattered at the edges after that brilliant revelation and his head was clear again, even if it were just for a little while. _They'll see_, Harry realized, _you idiot... you didn't put a glamour over your...!_

He didn't allow himself to finish that thought and scrambled to his feet, ducking into the nearest corner, swiping at his arms with speed and wandlessly, wordlessly concealing them. The boy exhaled shallowly, not allowing it to be too loud despite the pounding in his chest necessitating oxygen.

The steps grew closer, the beat of them suspicious and unsteady. Someone knew. Someone saw him. They knew and they saw or heard him. Or both. Oh Merlin.

Just as quickly as they approached, they died away, until they disappeared completely in the distance. They didn't know. Everything _was_ fine and everything _will be_ fine. Harry exhaled almost dramatically, and allowed himself a brief chuckle of relief.

Too close. Much too close. He can't afford to make mistakes at this point.

His breathing became more steady as his heart and his head ceased to ache. And then he heard it- well, felt it, is a more accurate description. He could feel someone else's soft breathing ring in his head right before a hard hand grasped his collar, jerked him forward, and held it even as he stumbled to the ground from the force. His brain bashed against his skull, making him dizzy, before his eyes focused.

His face was tilted towards the person's expensive looking shoes, slowly travelling upwards, seeing a green and silver striped tie peek into his vision, and then a gleaming Prefect badge... before they saw a strong neck, milky face and characteristic blonde hair.

Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

Fate's a bitch. Does it end?

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I had to end on a cliffy, I just did. I know. I am a sick and twisted individual who ends on way too many cliffies.

I'm replying to this review...

To _Millie_: Ugh, you don't have PMs open but I just had to reply because I was so flattered. Thank you so much for your review! It was amazing to hear that I can develop complex characters. That's an awesome thing to hear at this stage in my writing and I was honestly smiling like an idiot for an hour after I read that. I'm sooo glad you liked the story as much as you did.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

Wow! 200 followers and over 100 reviews! Thank you all for taking the time to read this story and liking it :D. You're all mindbogglingly fantastic. Pretty soon I'll run out of adjectives to describe your awesomeness.

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Draco smirked, pulling tighter on his collar, "Potter, aren't you supposed to be missing right about now?"

He glared, looking mutinous, "Let go, Malfoy."

The other boy laughed and only grabbed more of his shirt within his tightly clenched fist, either to appear threatening or to annoy him. With narrowed eyes, the boy stepped back and examined his muddy and shivering frame. "Back from your little expedition? You look like you just got here from a certain Forbidden forest. It's a little bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Harry felt tiredness creeping up on his brain. He didn't want to do this anymore, he didn't have it in him. "Let go! Now!"

Draco ignored him, chin raising in the air and eyes looking downward as if examining a bug. "You're not really in a position to be making demands."

The boy didn't respond, mind numbed. When was Fawkes going to get back?

"You've been up to something," he claimed, eyes narrowing into fine, sharp points.

"I didn't do anything!"

"I mean long before yesterday. Right from the first moment I laid my eyes on you this year, I could sense it," he growled, leaning closer, "Each and every day I can see it rising off of your skin, especially your arms, impregnating the air with its scent. It's power. It's pure power. And it's been growing."

Harry's expression crumbled- or, more accurately, vaporized into dust.

"I think I'm the only one who can see it, everyone else just acts like clueless dolts. Yet now... why, I could see it from a mile away in a blizzard. Something happened, didn't it? Today, or, last night maybe? It's been magnified somehow."

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked, trying to appear stoic, but the trembling in his voice ruined the effect.

The boy stared at him blankly for a moment, tilting his head to the side while his gaze traveled over Harry's hands and arms. "It's a shame, you've got something concealing it. Your powers, I mean. The way you perform in class, the way you tutor everybody and how the teachers kiss the ground you walk on... it all makes sense now..."

This couldn't be happening. There was no way. He gulped, feeling like sporadic black spots were expanding in his vision as if he were watching an old, degraded film. Yet he breathed in and out, maintaining consciousness anyways.

"You've got something I don't. And I want it, so give it to me," Draco growled, extending his arm as if it were an actual physical object, acting as if because he didn't have it he was entitled to get it by any means possible. It was, well, childish.

Harry emitted a nervous chuckle, "Even if I did have whatever you were talking about, I wouldn't give it to you."

The other boy blinked, leaning backwards, not comprehending the novel concept that just because something exists doesn't mean that it's automatically his. "Then I won't stop at anything to get it. Day or night, I'll go to any lengths. And tell me, what happens when I do tally up the evidence of whatever you're involved in?"

He didn't answer.

Draco's voice dropped to a deep whisper, grating on the boy's ears, "I will expose you. I will expose you for the freak that you are. I've always known it, the moment you chose a blood traitor over me on the train. Now everyone else will know too. They'll see that you're different."

Harry went pale.

Suddenly Dudley was standing over him in the park, pointing and laughing, jeering... calling him, "Freak!". The world knew right at that moment. The world knew- parents and kids and teachers; they stared at him. Eyes piercing into his skin like fine point needles stringing him on a popcorn wreath. Except that he wasn't even an unpopped kernel that lied at the bottom of the microwaved bag. He was less than that.

He was worthless. Freaky. Eyes shredding past his flesh and looking at the empty, rotten contents of his soul. He was nothing and now everybody knew.

But now the memory shifted, singed at edges and morphed into something entirely new. This time it was Hermione and Ron and Fred and George, and the rest of the school. Dudley was Draco, and he yelled, "Freak!". Now it was this new world, this world he was introduced to when he was eleven and immediately loved. It was his escape. Hoped it would love him back but, of course, it never would. Not now. No one can love a freak.

As he looked, pale and shaken, into the intensely vicious eyes of Draco Malfoy, anger filled his gut, making the mercury pour into his hands. No, no, no, no. That wouldn't happen, that couldn't happen. No one could know. No one could find out what he really was.

He was perched on his hands and knees. How easy it would be to channel the building magic in his hands into the floor, guiding it to the soles of the other boy's feet, ripping at his dragon hide boots... searing them in fire. The fire would travel upwards, ravaging his flesh like how a match stick burns black. Turning him into an unrecognizable lump of blood and burned muscle.

Not able to find water, he'd crumple to the floor like the weak and pathetic slug that he is. He would scream and, most of all, he would _know_. He'd know what it was like to feel the hopelessness. He'd know what it was like to burn, to feel heat so hot that it consumed more than just his flesh, it consumed his mind. The fire... the fire would take everything from him.

And when it was over? When the fire died out, finding nothing worth anything to drench in flame, and Malfoy only had one breath of life in him? The world would see him. The world would know what he was. They would know that the charred black lump, head indistinguishable from torso and torso from legs, was nothing. That his outside now matched his inside. That he was rotten.

Abruptly Harry awakened from his musings, clearing the anger that clouded his head in soupy fog. He couldn't. He would never do that. No matter how much Malfoy annoyed him, even if the boy threw his life into the flames, Harry would never ever be able to do the same. Never.

An intense bout of nausea and heat made Harry shiver, feeling like his arms would collapse under his own weight as the mercury power suddenly disappeared and sucked back into his core. He couldn't see it with the glamour, but he could sure feel it. Along with the anger, his energy disappeared also; leaving him feeling like an empty husk.

Why had he thought that? Had his anger really done that to him? What if he had actually acted on it? Oh Merlin... the black spots reappeared, claiming his vision and mind, and making his body slump over.

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An alarm that he had set on the school went off in the man's head, making him jump slightly as he stared at the eternally red flames. "One of my snakes saw it fit to sneak out from their dormitory, I will be back soon." Snape said in a nasty drawl, face twisting into a scowl, before whisking out of the room.

The sooner he could find this individual, the sooner he could get back, the sooner he could get back, the sooner he could find Potter. The sooner he could find Potter? The sooner he could throttle him. So, tucking his arms into the folds of his giant sleeves, the man took calculated and resolute steps towards the source of the noise.

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"Potter?" he hissed under his breath, annoyed. Had the idiot really just passed out on him? He immediately hiked up the boy's collar in his strong grip, trying to rouse him back to consciousness. He sharply slapped the boy's face. "Wake up now. We're not done talking until I say so."

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His eyes fluttered open, face tilted upwards dizzily as he rubbed a stinging mark on his face. Merlin, he was so tired. Why couldn't he just sleep? His limbs were so heavy. Arms. Legs. Like they had dumbbells strapped to them.

A whiny voice, "Potter! Enough of this! I want answers." Was that Malfoy? What was he doing here?

Something stung his face again. This time, the right side.

The sound of clattering on the ground, a black figure approaching. A milky, pale hand wrenched off of his shirt. His ears rang, like mini shock waves bouncing in his skull.

The ceiling expanded above him. Was _it_ coming closer to him or was _he_ coming closer to it? Had something picked him up?

Another voice, this one low and threatening. "You will explain to me later as to why you were in the company of Potter, yet for right now you will stay right there. If you move one foot from this position, I will not be lenient. Understood?"

The world moved, jerking every now and again to turn a corner. Something smelled like cinnamon and lavender. His eyes closed.

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At this late hour, the hospital wing was cold, dead silent and dimly lit, and Snape could only think about how accurately it reflected his mood.

The professor eyed Harry warily, "The boy is not going to survive the year if he keeps this up! This, this..." he paused, searching for the word, "This utter foolishness is going to get him killed, Albus."

The man shot him a placating grin, "Let's wait for him to be lucid enough to tell the story, we still don't know what..."

"It will be worthless, he isn't telling me anything! He isn't confiding in anyone! Potter is running himself into the damn ground and there's nothing I can do about it. To my knowledge, he hasn't told anyone besides Granger about his relatives and he's closing himself off." Snape interrupted.

"How are you aware of this? What evidence do you have, Severus?" Albus tensed.

A lingering sigh slid out of his rough throat, sounding oddly similar to a stutter. "The way he looks when he walks into class, it does not bode well for his mental state. The paranoia lurking behind his eyes, like any moment something huge is going to be exposed, and the tiredness in his face... he isn't well."

The Headmaster frowned, leaning his elbows onto his knees while he beamed darkly at Harry. "I suppose this is my fault."

Snape stopped his harangue, searching the other's man face, "How so?"

The man lifted the glasses perched on the edge of his nose, rubbing his eyes with crinkled palms, "I left him with _those people_. I made him like this. The last time I saw him, I..." he stopped, eyes glancing towards the flakes of snow drifting form the sky just past the window, no longer able to look at the sleeping boy's face. "I saw this clear distrust in his eyes and, well, I can hardly blame him, but... it broke me. It broke me to realize that I did this."

The professor found himself both unable and unwilling to lie. "Yes, yes you did do this." he replied, "Yet you did not hit him, beat him, tell him he was worthless. You genuinely cared for him and were found caught between looking out for the boy's physical well being or looking out for his mental well being. You made the mistake of thinking that physical necessarily trumped mental and you left him to the blood wards. It was an act of love, yet it was an equivalent act of stupidity."

Albus nodded, hands traveling up towards his forehead as if he were trying to banish a headache.

"What I cannot forgive, and I hope Harry will never forgive, is your _willful_ ignorance. You left him there without ever checking up on him, choosing to believe that just because they shared blood, that they also shared love. That was not an act of love on your part, that was violence. Perhaps indirect, yet violence nonetheless. In some ways you cared and in other ways it's as if you were there right in the boy's home, controlling his uncle's hand."

The old man leaned even more forward and hid his face, eyes peering at the chilly tiled floor in an effort to distract himself.

Snape growled and, feeling both tired and vicious, added, "Don't mistake your actions as the cause of Potter's instabilities, yet recognize them as a catalyst."

Those words looked Albus right in the face, making a stark outline of everything he'd done wrong in his mind's eye. It confronted him, twisting his gut into knots of guilt that he hadn't felt since... since he was a teenager. If only he had placed him in a good home, would the boy be sleeping here in the hospital wing right now, tired and frail? Would he be more outgoing and trusting, believing in the potential kindness of strangers and the goodness of the world? Yet, most of all, would he view himself differently... more correctly? Just how did Harry feel about himself in the first place? Those questions whirled round and round in his head like a spider diligently spinning a web, clouding it with dust and cobwebs.

If only he could wake up from this terrible nightmare, everything would be okay. Maybe if the boy weren't so thin and tired looking then he wouldn't have had to confront his mistakes. "I try to do my best, I try to do what's right but..."

"But it backfires? But it 'doesn't go as planned'? By all means convince yourself of such things yet save me the speech. You'd sacrifice anything if you thought for a second that it was for some sort of twisted _greater good_, or whatever drivel you actually believe."

Snape paused, plopping into a chair and scooting it closer to Potter's bedside. He peered darkly at the Headmaster, "I won't let you hurt him. I won't let you hurt Lily's son," he said in a moment of calculated seriousness, "I'm the one who's supposed to protect him, even if that means from you."

Albus smiled mirthlessly, throwing a heating charm on the frigid window besides Harry. "Yes. Do what you have to, Severus." he paused slightly, before saying, "Wrinkly!"

A thin, green creature immediately popped into the room, adorned in a visually melodious assortment of fabrics. "Do yous need anything, Mr. Headmaster Sirs?"

The old man smiled with slightly renewed energy, "Could you please go up to the Gryffindor Common Room and tell Harry's friends that he has arrived back to the school safely? Also say that he will be released from the hospital wing tomorrow afternoon?" he requested, placing a heavy hand on the metal headboard next to the boy.

Instead of disappearing, Wrinkly stepped over to the boy's bedside with a face scrunched in thought, before allowing a wide grin to spread over her features. "Oh, it has happened, I sees. Much sooners than was expected."

Snape's eyes narrowed, "What are you speaking of?"

The house ignored the man, pulling Harry's hand into hers. "Joyous news, joyous news. He has surviveds it, Mother Earths has willed it. I musts tells the others! It's a shames he's hiding it, though."

The professor stood abruptly, "Survived what, exactly?"

Wrinkly tilted her head, confused. "Why, _The Awakening_, of courses, Sirs. What elses would hes has not surviveds? Cans yous not feel it? Hes must be the first one, in, in, a thousands years! I's must tell the others!" her grin returned, before she popped away in a flurry of activity.

The Headmaster laughed, wiping at his eyes, "House elves always have been a tad bit peculiar in my experience."

Snape nodded before he reluctantly sat back down. There was no denying that they were eccentric in personality and it was not uncommon to hear them babbling about whatever crazy ideas popped in their head. It was nothing, he was sure, yet even while he convinced himself of that, something didn't feel quite right.

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If one were to walk in on the room at this very moment, the tensions that sat in the air would make even the most oblivious person spin on their heel and run the other way. Hermione sat towards the far left corner in a desk, running her thumb across the pages of a large textbook, watching snow drift past the castle and wondering if Harry was out there in the cold. Ron was, well, being Ron and busied himself in a game of chess that was surprisingly half-hearted. Meanwhile, Fred and George were sitting opposite each other, watching the ceiling, and Ginny pulled knots out of her tangled hair.

It was only a knock on the portrait door that broke them out of their dark musings, making everyone come together and edge towards it. "Hello? Who's there?"

A light, muffled voice came from the other side," It's Luna, silly, haven't the wrackspurts told you?"

Fred opened the door, allowing the girl to step in.

"What are you doing here, you know it's past curfew!" Hermione said coolly.

Luna blinked, staring out the window formerly occupied by the other girl. "It's to my understanding that Harry was gone?"

"_Is_ gone, you mean? Yeah, he is, and how do you know that?"

Luna laughed, fiddling with a necklace laced with bottle caps, "Oh, he was never missing. He was out doing something very important, at least the nargles have told me that. I suppose he must be sleeping right now because the castle is feeling happy to have him back."

The others did a series of things that ranged from an irritated roll of the eyes to a polite, yet inattentive nod. She was just being Luna, as always. Most everything she said had no basis in reality.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing,

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White ceiling. Actually it was more like the sickly, off-white eggshell color of aged paint but still it could aptly be described as white ceiling. That was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes and, with that bad omen in mind, immediately he knew where he was. White ceiling meant white walls and white walls meant white sheets and, you know what white sheets meant? It meant the Hospital Wing. For the fourth time. No, fifth. Or sixth, but honestly he had lost count after third.

How was it that he managed to get himself back here? Well, if he thought about it, actually three of the times he's been here weren't his fault, per se. It was the most dreadful place in all of Hogwarts and he avoided it like an outbreak of Dragon Pox, yet somehow, someway, it was as if he were intimately aware of every nuance and detail of the cage due to the long hours spent here. He knew where the Potions' cabinets were and how they were organized- right down to the Pepper up potions and the boil cures. He knew the exact spots where there was little dribbles of paint on the corners of the room's floors due to the careless slathering of white on the walls. He even could boast knowledge of which bed was the most uncomfortable, soft, or creaky when he'd turn on his side. Each time he'd entered asking "How did I get here again?" and each time he'd leave saying, "I'll never come back here again!", yet the cycle repeated itself over and over.

Harry sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and contemplating just leaving. It wouldn't be so bad now, would it? Chances are Madam Pomphrey wouldn't even know, she's such a busy lady that she'd forget he was ever here, right? Maybe she didn't even know he was here, depending on who brought him in. Even to him, that excuse sounded weak, yet his desire to leave was so great that it was almost enough to convince him. Briefly, he put one hesitant foot onto the ground, retracting it abruptly as if he had been dipping it in bath water that was too hot, and looked around.

He gasped suddenly as a weight landed on his shoulder before realizing it was Fawkes, '_It would not be in your best interest to leave, child._'

The combination of waking up in the hospital wing and feeling like his body had a motley of aches made him snappish, "What's it to you?"

Fawkes nipped his ear in admonishment, '_Think for once. If you leave, you will only be brought back when someone inevitably finds you and it will seem very suspicious. They may think you were attempting to run away, and that is not the course of action you want to take. Not only that, but you would worry both your professors and your friends and you are still weak from The Awakening._'

Harry sighed, looking longingly towards the great mahogany doors towards his left, before begrudgingly pulling his feet up and settling back into the bed. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Do you know who brought me here?"

'_When I finally arrived, you were unconscious and Professor Snape was there with Dumbledore. I believe it is the two of them who found you._' the bird said.

Well, that threw his plans of sneaking out in the dust. He sat for a while, ruminating on what had happened last night. Paling slightly, he remembered his conversation with Draco. "Can people sense my magic? Now that I have more of it... or because it's awakened or something?"

'_Really only magical creatures have a sensitivity to your particular core. While some wizards may have the ability to discern that you are powerful by the ambiance which surrounds you, they would never truly be able to understand that you have been granted the Magic of the Soul. It is something which is beyond them.'_

His shoulders drooped, feeling a tidal wave of relief. Malfoy could never expose him unless... unless he messed up. He dropped back onto the pillow, forcing Fawkes to jump onto the headboard, and peered once again at the off-white ceiling.

"Merlin, this is going to be a nightmare," he whined, rubbing his face with his palms, "Hermione... Neville... Snape- Snape's going to be the worst of them all."

The poor boy didn't know if he were up for yet another round of relentless questioning. He could only hope that he had an air-tight excuse but then, when did he ever? If the man's sixth sense told him that Harry was lying then it might all be over.

It's not like he could just say he didn't willfully go to the forest, even though that was technically true, because then there would be this proverbial "witch hunt" for whatever did drag him there. Then, well, the evidence would stack up to show that nothing really dragged him at all. That, in turn, would lead to even more questions.

Something tapped on the window just before his bedside, startling him from his thoughts. He sat up once again, looking out and almost laughing despite his mood at the sight of a dozen other birds watching him. "How long have they been there?"

_'A couple of hours, perhaps.'_

Harry leaned forward and tapped at the glass, waving, "Hours? Out in the cold, why? The Aw- last night is over, I mean, shouldn't they be gone by now?"

Fawkes shifted guiltily, '_We hadn't mentioned it last night but in The Awakening, something unexpected had happened.'_

The boy's expression dropped. "What does that mean?"

'_In the process of your core transforming, us phoenixes had to use our own Old Magicks to help stabilize yours, if you remember. The amount of power saturating the air and the fact that this type of magic is the most irrevocable, most unchanging and permanent of magics, means that in effect your Soul is bond to ours.'_

Harry leaned back, shocked, "What? Does that mean..."

'_It means that you are bonded to fourteen other phoenixes, yes. It is much like having a familiar, yet inexplicably stronger. If you were to speak of your soul and our souls in terms of thread, then they are tangled together into knots that bind us to one another. Something you should know is that because I spent the most time in your presence before the actual Awakening, your soul and my own are much more tightly bound than yours to the others,_' Fawkes explained as delicately as he could.

Harry inhaled sharply to mitigate the spinning of his head, "What's going to happen now?"

The bird gripped his shoulder, pausing slightly, '_I had never anticipated this to happen, for these sorts of things are rare. We will, of course, be drawn to your presence yet I think the true purpose of this type of bond is so that we may ground your immense powers. We do not yet know what else this entails so far.'_

The boy either didn't want to know much else about it or didn't know what to ask, so he burrowed back into the sheets.

It was only fifteen minutes later when he heard the slow, repetitive motion of steps against the ground just outside of the Hospital Wing. Oh, he recognized _those_ steps. They were measured and determined, considerably familiar to a painting with harsh, deep strokes against the canvas. They were angry steps too, abusing the floor with their intrepidity and intensity. They were the steps of none other than Professor Snape.

Why did he have to walk so loudly? Was it truly because he was angry, or was the man purposely trying to spike up his anxiety? He supposed it would make sense, seeing as how Harry didn't really keep the promise that'd he'd "stay out of trouble", no matter how unintentionally he went against it. The man could surely be formidable when he wanted to be.

He scoot further under the covers, pulling them over his head. Maybe the man would go away if he pretended to be sleeping. Yes, yes, that seemed reasonable, ri- the door creaked open cautiously, taunting him, before the steps approached his bedside.

A dangerous tone, "Potter."

Harry didn't respond.

"I know you're awake, Potter, enough with the charades."

Slowly, he pulled the sheets over his head and sat up, picking at the lint on his sleeves. His throat constricted.

Snape stood, looming over him like a dark, ominous cloud. Yet instead of erupting in thunder, the man waited for him to say the first word. But he couldn't- his throat, his throat... it was like there was a noose fastened over it, choking him, making him unable to speak. The silence persisted, causing Harry to fidget with increasing intensity. Silence. Silence could only mean one thing.

The professor noted this and granted a small mercy for the boy, "I want you tell me where you were, exactly, and what you did leading up to me finding you in the castle." He was prompt, stating exactly what he needed.

The boy tugged at the collar around his throat, opening his mouth and closing it repeatedly, before Fawkes resettled on his shoulder and nuzzled towards him. The subtle act of comfort loosened his vocal cords, allowing him to speak. "I, I was in the Forbidden Forest."

"Start from the beginning," the man ordered curtly, sitting down and smoothing out his robes even as his eyes continued to bore heavily into Harry's, "Just when did you go on this _adventure_ of yours?"

He knew. He knew. He knew already, he knew that, that, that Harry wasn't... that he willfully went. Oh Merlin, he knew. Just how much? Who told him... how did he...

The boy forcibly pried the thoughts out of his head, focusing on his task, "Early morning yesterday."

"Why, exactly?"

"I didn't mean to..." he interjected, before halting abruptly and adding, "Well, I did, you see, but... lately I've just been feeling, uh, trapped. Trapped in the castle."

Fawkes peered at him, trying to decipher the direction he was going with this lie.

The man nodded, gesturing him to continue, "I've just been here since summer without really going out much, you see? And so I decided to go in the Forbidden Forest 'cause this place was driving me insane. I needed to get out; the way everyone stares at me no matter what I do, the way that people act and how... well, Ron, I don't know about him. Sometimes I notice that he's not very happy with... I'm getting off track, aren't I?" He paused, chuckling nervously, "Anyways, I went to the forest and I sorta explored around and then I got a little bit lost. Then I got _very_ lost, and then..." he stopped, thinking back to the centaurs, "And then I made it back somehow."

He stopped, staring at the man, watching his shoulders tense and his hands clench into fists. "You were bored," he said in a sharp tone, "You were bored and so _somehow_ you had decided in the vast, empty caverns of your skull that '_exploring_' the Forbidden Forest was a good idea?"

Harry flinched, "I wasn't thinking and, well, when you put it like that..."

Snape stood, mouth curling downward into an ugly sneer, "You promised me that you wouldn't do that, you promised me right before you went out on your trip that you wouldn't do anything foolish, yet you directly disobeyed me! You looked me right in the eyes, and you said that you wouldn't get into trouble. That'd you'd 'try your best'. Why?"

The boy didn't answer.

The man growled, "You inconsiderate brat, you could've been killed out there! Does your life have no meaning, no worth? Do your friends mean so little to you that you'd willingly crush them by doing something so inconceivably idiotic? Why do you do this to yourself- why do you do this to others?"

It wasn't him. It wasn't him, god dammit, it was _The Call_! If it weren't there, he would've never gone! It was his magic that did this- that resulted in this! He longed to say it out loud, to deny the stinging accusations, yet he knew he couldn't. If he did, it would be much worse than this.

"If you're feeling stuck, you tell someone, you don't go running into the forest like some sort of animal! You _think_ it through. I will stamp out this recklessness, no matter what it takes. I will not let you kill yourself by doing something foolish."

Harry stifled a rush of red that was creeping up from his neck and didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't go back on his lie now, he was too deep in.

"Therefore you will serve three weeks of detentions with me, lose your Quidditch rights and will not be allowed outside of the school unless it is for classes over the duration of this period."

The boy choked on his spit, "What? Really? But..."

"No. You forfeited the idea that you were trustworthy and had an inkling of responsibility right when you stepped foot into the forest, you deserve this and you know you do for putting not only yourself but others in this situation."

Harry bowed his head, feeling a trace of guilt. "Just who knows that I was missing?"

"Your friends, the Order, the professors besides Umbridge, naturally, and no one else if they managed to keep their mouths shut."

The boy scrunched up his eyes in thought for a moment, if only his friends and the Order were supposed to know of his missing status, then why did Draco? Did he overhear or... no, there was no reason to be distrustful of his friends. He waved that thought away and asked, "Does Sirius know? How did he react?"

"We thought it best to not tell him due to the emotional strain it causes and because he'd interfere with the Order's attempts to find you while you were out..." he paused, "_exploring._"

"Okay," he responded, hand reaching up to grasp at Fawkes' feathers.

Snape nodded with a jerk of the head and left, pausing by the door and saying, "You may leave here at any time and I am expecting you in my office by 7:00 pm, don't forget.", before leaving.

Harry waited for the sound of steps to recede in the distance, less jarring and formidable than they were before. "Do you think I should go back to the common room right now?"

Fawkes nudged his head, picking at wiry strands of hair with his beak, '_You may do whatever you wish. Personally, I think it would be best to get it over with instead of wallowing in fear about what might happen.'_

The boy nodded but made no move to get up, trying to distract himself. "So, about the bond that I have with you and the other phoenixes, what does this mean? How will I spend time with them all? I mean, I can't just have all fifteen of you around me when I'm in class... but I don't want any of them to feel left out and I really don't know how my professors are going to feel about me having them in the class."

'_If worse comes to worse, you may have to compose a schedule for spending time with them. Obviously, you will also need to explain this particular situation to your teachers. At bare minimum, you should tell them that you have developed a bond that means close proximity is a necessity.'_

Harry sighed, people were just going to stare at him more and more. "What happens if I don't spend time with them? Not that I wouldn't, 'cause I don't want them to feel bad but... are there negative effects of that?"

The birds on the other side of the building huddled closer to the window, watchful, '_In a strong familiar bondship, it is common for both the magical creature and the owner to develop depressive symptoms that magnify over time if the requirement of proximity is not met. I suppose it would be nearly exponentially worse in your case because it's literally a part of your soul which would be missing if you do not spend enough time with each of them. Of course, it will always be important to have a phoenix in contact with you almost at all times because they should ground your powers. Other negative effects are not yet known._'

Harry felt his headache return and grimaced.

Fawkes continued, '_I will be the one who needs to spend the most time with you since your soul is the most connected with mine and, of all the phoenixes, my soul is most companionable to yours, which will be necessary so you don't release your powers and potentially hurt someone.'_

The boy paled, remembering suddenly the incident with Malfoy when he had... "Something happened last night, when I got back and you were away," he whispered.

Fawkes sensed the darkness lingering in his voice, '_Yes, child? Whatever it is, you can tell me._'

"Malfoy saw me in the hall, and he fought with me and... well, I got really angry. Like, _really_ angry. I lost my mind and I think that I could've... hurt him really bad or maybe even-" he stopped, shuddering, "killed him had I not stopped to think about it."

'_This is a common occurrence in the early stages after The Awakening. You are not yet acquainted with your powers, and you don't know your strength. There is a clear connection between your emotions and your magic, yet over time you will grow used to this and these incidents will not happen as often, if at all. This is yet another reason why you need to be close to me- I have the ability to dampen that innate connection between magic and emotion, so you will not perform accidental magic as often. The best you can do is try to use as much magic as you can to tire yourself or just be aware of it, yet you needn't feel so guilty about it._'

"But..." he stopped, "Anyways, I think I should get going now. It's a Saturday, right?"

'_As far as I am aware._'

He pulled himself off from the bed and slowly put his weight onto his still-sore legs. The boy glanced around, peeking through the curtains to see if anyone was there in the hospital wing with him, and smiled slightly when they weren't. This would be the perfect opportunity to practice his magic.

Cautiously he peeled the glamour on his hands away, staring at the silver bands inscribed on his arms. He hadn't really gotten the chance to see them in much detail before. As he looked he realized they were beautiful enough to possibly catch his fleeting attention for hours just to stare at. Flattened, silvery orbs rested in the center of his palms, branching out into thick, equally silver tendrils that slowly thinned out as they wrapped around the surface of his arms. The nearest thing he could equate it to is vines twining around the surface of a pole, thick and luscious with small curls that sometimes branched out from the main vine. The tendrils wavered when he touched them, pulling back and avoiding his fingers before affirming their original spot when he took it away. Intermittently these vines curled into intricate and infinite knots that, for reasons unknown to him, looked vaguely Celtic. It was a little bit like arabesque art but not every single space on his arm was filled.

Deciding to see what happened when he practiced magic, the boy transfigured his hospital wing pajamas into a fresh set of robes. He gasped at the strangely intimate sensation- it was as if he could feel the magics inside of him gently pulling away from his core, diffusing through his body, but then concentrating towards his arms and spilling into the tendrils. He watched the magic turn the silver vines into a brilliant, shimmering white as they passed through them and then meet at the center of the orb, spilling out in the world and transfiguring his robes.

The robes turned out perfect, not flawed and odd looking as most of transfigured clothes did, yet having each exact stitch in the perfect place and even the correct texture of the differing fabrics. It appears as if he may never have any shortage of clothing.

Reluctantly, the boy placed the glamour back on his arms, feeling almost like a criminal smuggling a drug.

Now it was time to meet his possible demise. Hermione, in other words.

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okay, okay, now that I have that out of the way, the chapters will speed up once again after this one.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: HAHA yeah right; but honestly, minor swearing.

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One step. Two step. Three steps closer to the common room. _Breathe Harry, just breathe, it will all be okay_. They can't possibly react as badly as Snape did. They care about him, right, so they'll just be glad to have him back? Well, Snape sure didn't seem happy with him. Never mind that, it will be absolutely a-okay. Alright. Better than alright, really, perhaps fantastic.

Fantastically bad, maybe. Who is he kidding? It will be horrible. Dreadful. Terrifying. He'll run out of things to say to describe the tragic event. They'll slap the back of his head in class for weeks on end, unable to comprehend the enormity of his stupidity! They'll stalk him for years to make sure he doesn't accidentally trip and somehow manage to kill himself with his own shoelaces!

Well, Fred and George wouldn't be too bad. They'd think it was funny, like one big prank. They may even pat his shoulder and, in a vaguely fatherly way, say, "Ya done good, son," with a proud gleam of approval in their eyes. Ron? Ron'd probably shrug, rolling his eyes, telling him that he was glad that Harry wasn't dead. Neville would act like that too, so that meant three people who weren't mad at him. In his book, that was a huge success.

And Hermione? He didn't allow himself to think about that. If he did, he may just turn 180 degrees and shoot back into the hospital wing, hiding in an empty Potions' cabinet for three years. That didn't sound so bad, now that he thought about it. He had a lot of experience staying in small spaces...

"What did I do to deserve this?" he whined quietly to himself for the third time as he weaved throughout the hallways, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. Damned Call. Damned Awakening. Damned him-being-unconscious-for-a-whole-day-so-that-people-knew-he-was-missing. Damned everything. It wasn't even his fault and everyone was going to be so mad at him.

Fawkes cuddled closer onto his shoulder, ignoring the stares that were thrown his way by some of the students that passed the boy, '_It won't be that bad, child. Everything will be fine in time.'_

Harry closed his eyes momentarily, sighing dramatically. He wished he could just blend in with the walls, slowly be absorbed by them, and disappear. Wouldn't have to deal with his friends. His teachers. The students. The loathsome staring.

Walking through the halls, it was with a startled jump that he heard a small, timid voice call out, "Harry!"

He looked around, turning, before his gaze shifted lower to a second year Ravenclaw. He smiled, bowing his knees slightly, "Hey, Linda, isn't it? Do you need more help on your charms work?"

She grinned tentatively, eyes drawn to her shoes and red face peeking up from her long bangs, "No, I just wanted to say thanks for helping me last week. I passed the practical tests because of you, but I couldn't find you yesterday to say it. Alice and Celeste wanted to say thanks too, but they were too embarrassed."

His shoulders stiffened, but he realized immediately that it was obvious she didn't know he had been missing yesterday. "Oh, well, I'd always be glad to help you for whatever questions you have."

Please have questions. Please have questions. Any excuse to stall would be great.

She laughed and scratched at her ear, eyes drawn to the phoenix on his shoulder. "Isn't that the Headmasters? What's the bird doing with you?"

What should he tell her? Forehead scrunching for a moment, the boy said, "Recently a lot of birds have started following me around. Don't be surprised if you see more of them around..."

Her shy smile widened as she grew more receptive, "That's really cool! Though, what I really wanted to say was..." she paused, faltering, "I don't think you're a liar, I mean, about You-Know-Who being back. I used to think so but you're really nice, helping me and all."

Harry smiled, "Thanks, that means a lot to me."

Her blush deepened. "Yeah, well, bye!" she said, before racing off.

"Stay out of trouble!" he yelled towards her, before realizing the irony of the statement.

As much as he wanted to say that he was entirely unaffected by the opinions of a second year, he couldn't help but smile crookedly at the thought that some people believed him. If she thought that then maybe there were more of them that believed it too, it would certainly be a welcome reprieve.

The boy then resumed his walk with purposeful slowness, 'accidentally' drifting into the wrong hallway from time to time, and having lingering conversations with those he had passed by. Stopping to make sure no one was watching, he whispered to Fawkes, "Do I have to do this?"

'_There's no way you could possibly avoid it._'

It would be best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Yes, he could possibly shredded into pieces by his friends, but he had to do it. It's best to rip off a bandaide and wait for the sting to dissipate. With this resolution in mind, he quickened his pace, rushed through halls, and hoped they were in the Gryffindor common room so he didn't have to go on a massive lion hunt.

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The portrait blinked, adding more overly white powder to her greasy forehead, "Forgot the password, sweety?"

"No, I just need to think for a moment," the boy said, giving a polite half-smile that crumbled as his anxiety grew.

_Just get it over with, Harry. You know you need to_. When he does, he can focus on more important things- like how he's going to schedule time with all of those birds, or how he's going to bring them to class with him. Or what he's going to say to his teachers. Or how he's going to deal with Draco. Or how he's going to deal with these new powers. Or one of the million other things that he has to get to.

_These are just your friends, they care about you. Enough to not kill you when they see, if just barely._

His head pounded, feeling a mixture of exhausted and aching, as he stared blankly at the portrait door and steeled himself. "Quid Agis," he whispered falteringly, watching it swing open slowly, as if to taunt him.

Stepping in quietly, he bit the laugh rising from his throat when he saw them all piled on the common room couch asleep. Had they been there all night waiting for him?

They looked pretty tired, he realized with a pang of guilt. They were such great friends and to make them worry like that was a rotten thing to do, even if it wasn't of his own will that he went into the forest. Merlin, of all the terrible things that he was he couldn't manage even be a good friend to the people that somehow cared about him. They shouldn't have to go through that all because he was an idiot.

He was such a freak. Couldn't do anything the right way, _the normal way_- if Uncle Vernon were right about one thing, he was right about that. Somehow this was all his fault. Selfish and worthless and freaky, what a great combination to have in a person. He was just the package deal, wasn't he?

Fawkes looked at him oddly, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking, yet said nothing.

The boy leaned forward to the group on the couch, not knowing if he should wake them up or not, "Hermione?"

He was rewarded with a pair of eyes jolting open, a mass colliding into him, a screech that would make his ears ring for days, and a spin around the room.

He could barely register all of the sensations which occurred next- a few surprised yells of, "Harry!", and "Where were you?", along with the jostling of his body from person to person, as well as curious eyes of the few students that lingered in the common room. Too many hands and arms and eyes.

The boy laughed, "Hey!"

Hermione held him back at arm's length and examined him, as she often did whenever he got himself into one of these messes. "Harry James Potter, I thought you had died!"

His face darkened, shoulders flinching at the intense brown eyes that watched him. "I'm sorry, really. I'm okay though, so... that's a little dramatic right?"

She looked like she was going to explode. Fred and George grasped onto his shoulders, also shuddering at the seriousness in Hermione's face, yet dismissing it, "So, how was that dinner with Malfoy and Fudge? Did you like the spaghetti, personally I think..."

"...the wine must have been fabulous!" George finished.

"I'll never understand you two." Harry laughed, latching onto the odd joke to pull himself out of the mess.

The girl was undeterred, shooting cool looks at the twins. "So, aren't you going to tell us where you were?"

Oh Merlin... when she hears his excuse- couldn't he have come up with something better than saying he went 'exploring'? Honestly.

"Right, well, sit down."

Harry took the seat adjacent to the large couch, expression calm yet the way he scratched at his neck betraying his nervousness. Fawkes, who had been jostled off of his shoulder by the enthusiastic greeting, resettled and picked at his hair. The others looked at his expectantly, eyes glancing over at the bird on his shoulder.

"Why's the Headmaster's phoenix with you?"

The boy felt an unexpected surge of possessive rise up from his gut, "_My_ phoen- I mean, he's Fawkes. Call him Fawkes," Where had_ that_ come from? He had never felt anything like that before.

The bird nuzzled closer to his neck, comforted, and seeming inexplicably happy. "I'll tell you later, first the story."

Harry chuckled nervously, wringing his robes in his sweaty hands, "Well, before I say anything, I should say that I was in the Forbidden Forest."

There were a series of gasps.

"What were you doing there?" Hermione yelled, hands flying up to her tangled cloud of hair.

Ron placed a placating hand on her shoulder, guiding her back to her seat with an anxious smile. "'Mione, calm down. No need to... uh, judge before you know the facts, right? Objectiveness over subjective-ness, or whatever?"

This seemed to be right thing to say because she quickly sat back down.

"Lately I've been feeling stuck in the castle and, so, uh, I sorta just went to the forest and walked around," the boy lied with a stutter, "I went a bit past where I should've gone and then I got a little bit lost..."

An ugly red was rapidly rising on the girl's face. Neville glanced warily at her, hand lifting in the air as if deciding whether or not it would be worth it to try and calm her.

"So, I was out for a while and I tried to find my way back," he said before he glanced at Fawkes and thought up the perfect lie that would explain the bird's presence, "Fawkes was out there with a bunch of birds and they all guided me back to Hogwarts, and then... and then I got back."

He sat, staring at the faces of his friends. Fred and George seemed calm but their arms was crossed tensely and faces confused, like they couldn't understand the joke. Ron seemed vaguely irritated. Neville looked justifiably angry, yet didn't know what to do with that anger, so he just opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Ginny looked tired, and Hermione looked...

"How could you? How could you do that? What were you THINKING? Are you insane or just stupid?" the girl muttered, burrowing her face into her hands, "Why do you do that?"

Harry looked down at his lap, "I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything more, lips pursing into a fine, tight line as she stormed off presumably to her dorm. Usually she just yelled until his ears fell off, hugged him tightly and then everything was fine. But now...

Neville patted his back timidly, "She'll come around soon," he consoled meekly, "Just give her time. I mean, what you did was pretty stupid. I know you didn't mean to make us worry, but still..."

Ron seemed excited, "What was it like? Was it cool out there? Did you see any dark creatures?"

Fred and George came to his side, "Hey! You're pretty good at transfiguration, right? Can you help us in the library?"

His eyes narrowed, confused at their sudden change in demeanor. "Okay, sure."

They guided him out of the common room, each one taking residence up by his shoulder and saying nothing as they winded up the stairs. The boy felt his suspicion rise.

As he tried to turn right, the two of them abruptly grabbed and yanked him into an empty corridor, faces twisting into serious frowns.

Harry scratched harshly at his neck, "Aren't we going to..."

George's eyes bored into his own, "Don't do that..."

"Again," Fred finished.

The boy shivered; he had never seen them this serious.

"You really worried us, and we can't just have you wandering off whenever you feel like it."

"... If you do decide to pull something like this again, then Hermione will seem like a ladybug compared to us," Fred threatened, "We are the school's most renowned pranksters for a reason."

Harry swallowed to loosen his throat, nodding vigorously, "Of course."

George ruffled his hair in a vaguely brotherly way, pushing him out of the hall and back to the common room.

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He spent the rest of the day in relative peace, half of his friends feeling happy relief to have him back and the other half chiding him for his recklessness. He was glad that it was over with, yet that feeling of relief was replaced with the stress of having to figure out what he was going to do about everything.

His head swam with information, simmering like overheated boil cure that's been sitting in a cauldron for too long, giving him short yet violent bursts of headaches. It was too much to deal with, and he didn't know what to approach first. The birds. His hands. Malfoy. Snape.

He supposed the most pressing issue was how he was going to spend time with all the birds, yet every time he tried to sneak away and have a private chat with Fawkes, one of his friends took him by the arm and redirected him into their line of sight. They were afraid he was going to "run away again", which was understandable yet equally as annoying. He needed to find out about this soul bond and what to do about it, but that wouldn't be possible for a little while- not until everyone stopped watching him.

When seven o' clock rolled around, it was with eagerness that he stepped out of the common room and went to his detention. He had knocked swiftly on the door, entered, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for orders of what he had to do. Snape remained silent for at least five minutes, before he stared up at him with a dour expression.

"Two hundred lines; the sentence is on the board." were the only sounds that accompanied him for the next two hours besides the scratch of quill on parchment.

It was better that way, anyways.

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urrrgh I would've made it longer but I have this ginormous test on Thursday, so this is the last chapter until then.

Sorry it's not so greatly-fantastically-awesomely-amazing, but I didn't have much time.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing,... uhherer yeah

This is the longest chapter yet, hohohoho. Early Christmas/ Hanukkah/whatever other religious or non-religious celebration that one participates in which may or may not be in December/ present.

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After a sluggish, lazy weekend in which he managed to get next to nothing done, Harry felt a mixture of happiness and gratitude that the week had finally rolled around. It was such a welcome relief because, while he knew he couldn't escape the stares of his fellow students, he would be properly able to distract himself with whatever lecture and assignment the teacher would inevitably hand out. It was sort of a novelty for him to worry about normal teenage things like assignments, and he'd embrace it with open arms whenever he could.

That said, he understood that it would just take some time to get everything figured out and, when he did, he'd be back fully in the swing of things. From his hands to the phoenixes and from Malfoy to his friends, it was disorienting for his head to be pushed from one problem to the next. He'd figure out everything in time or, at very least, he'd get used to it. And getting used to it was better than nothing.

It was with excitement that he stepped into another class of transfiguration and Fawkes seemed to share that semblance of emotion too, acting more receptive to Harry's hands tousling his feathers. The boy sat in the back of the class, Fawkes' neck and legs leaning downward until his beak was with Harry's eye level. By now, word had passed around the school that the "Headmaster's phoenix" was spending time with the boy and the resultant amount of awed looks were so much that it was hard for him to ignore.

As more students piled into the class, Ron and Neville sat next to him, as per usual, while Hermione lingered towards his direction thoughtfully before pulling away and sitting at another group of seats. He supposed he must have looked hurt, because Ron promptly whispered in his ear, "She's just being stubborn."

This did nothing to console him and, looking downward, he distracted himself with the task of piling quills and spare parchment on his worn wooden desk. Well, this added one more thing to the list of things he had to get done and it was getting hard to keep track.

Hurt and worried, the boy half-listened to the lecture and felt considerably less happy then when he had walked in. What should he do, apologize or wait for her to forgive him? She sure didn't look like she wanted anything to do with him but maybe she was waiting for when he was going to say sorry. If he did and he messed it up, she could just get more angry, but if he didn't...

His eyes meandered around the room, resting on the frosty pane glass window directly to his left. It radiated the cold from the outside, allowing a slight breeze to brush on his neck and face, and he wondered what the other phoenixes were doing. He had to see them soon, he knew, he wanted to reassure them that he was okay and work out a schedule but it would be nearly impossible with everyone watching.

The snowing had quieted early this morning, yet it must be cold out there. He wondered if they were out there, waiting for him. In the cold. Faint guilt reddened his face, making his eyes drop downward to the ground so he didn't have to confront the source of the feeling so plainly.

Should he wait for the hype to die over? Should he sneak away with Fawkes and tell the bird to act as a messenger to the others? Or would that be too dangerous? How will he spend time with all of...

"...and what limitations are imposed on this type of transfiguration, Mr. Potter?" the firm voice of Professor McGonagall asked, making him jump slightly in his seat.

Harry scratched the back of his exposed neck, looking sheepish, "Sorry, I didn't hear that."

Her lips tightened into a firm line, "Well, make sure to pay attention in the future." she said, before continuing the explanation about... whatever she was talking about.

He didn't think he'd be able to make himself pay any great amount of attention anyways, not with Hermione looking so resolutely to the front of the room, tense with anger and not even giving him an occasional glance, and especially not with frosted glass to his left, making him think of the other phoenixes.

It was with a beleaguered sigh that he piled his things when class was dismissed. Intentionally he toke a long amount of time to carefully pack away his stuff and he jumped for the third time when he heard, "Mr. Potter, stay after class."

His expression grew tense, "Yes, ma'am?"

She approached him tersely, weaving in and out of the rows of desks, "You aren't in any trouble, I just wanted to say that if you have any issues you can talk to me if Professor Snape seems like a _lesser_ option."

The tone of her voice when she said lesser was faintly aggressive and her eyes hardened as she liked slightly to the right, as if remembering something particularly unpleasant.

"It's okay, really, but thank you for the offer," Harry replied circumspectly, at her raised eyebrow he added, "He has a, uh, tough exterior, but he's a good man."

Her expression was disbelieving, "I have heard that he has assigned you three weeks of detention."

"I deserved it; I mean, what I did was really stupid." he paused, thinking, "he's helped me through a lot of stuff over the summer."

McGonagall's face dropped, brows knitting as she peered at him with saddened eyes. He felt confused by this, was she really so broken up about him and the head of Slytherin being "friends"?

"I wish you hadn't had to go through half the things that have happened to you." She continued staring, making him look down at his things, "If you do need someone to talk to besides him, please know that I am available."

She knows. It says it on her face- she knows what happened with his relatives. A wash of torrid heat rose to his face from his neck, making him hunch forward and fiddle with his book bag. Finding himself unable to talk, he settled with a curt, "Bye," and left the room.

He didn't see the look that graced her features when he abruptly ran to his next class, and he didn't think he'd want to either. The boy didn't want pity.

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It was with relief that Harry just barely made it to his next class on time, getting a harsh glare from Professor Umbridge when he plopped loudly in his seat. She seemed eager to assign him detentions, so any way he could avoid them would be great. Her punishments were fairly mild, as they only consisted of regular lines, but the way his hand cramped from holding his quill for that many hours was a definite drawback. Besides, he already had enough as it is with Snape.

Her beady, make-up slathered eyes slowly traveled over his face, until she beamed pointedly at the phoenix on his shoulder. "What's that bird doing with you?"

The students quietly seated themselves, watching the ensuing argument that would spring up from the two, as it inevitably did about every other class period spent here.

Harry's face twisted when he heard her nasally, angered squeal, and it took unprecedented amounts of self constraint to not spit out a witty reply, "This is Fawkes, ma'am."

Her mouth curled into an ugly grin, voice turning into a loathsome high-pitched sound she was so renown for, "Oh, so you stole it from the Headmaster, did you? What if it has diseases, hmm? No pets are allowed in this class."

"I did not steal him from the Headmaster, he chooses to be with me. How he can handle your presence though, remains a mystery," he spat in reply. Instead of nipping at his ear, or tugging his hair, the bird snuggled closer to him in a clear sign approval, haughtily looking away from Umbridge.

A wave of laughter rippled throughout the class, students quieting only when a ruler slapped against a desk. The woman's styled eyebrow twitched homicidally, the grotesquely fake smile that crinkled the rest of her chubby face remaining like peeling plaster. "Detention, Mr. Potter. 7:00 pm."

Harry smiled, "I can't, I already have detention with Professor Snape."

"Tomorrow night then."

He smiled at her, mimicking the falseness of her grin, "I have detention that night too, and the night after that, and the night after that... ad infinitum, or more like the next three weeks."

Her eyes narrowed at this, "Well, I suppose you'll just have detention from 4:00 am until class starts tomorrow, and the morning after that for your cheek, of course."

Harry tensed and Hermione threw him a look from across the room as if to say, 'Shut up before you get yourself into any more trouble.'

The woman's sickly grin expanded, relishing in her victory, "Now, why don't you return the animal to the Headmaster, yes?"

Fawkes chirped indignantly at being called a mere animal, ruffling his feathers as his wings jerked upwards in aggravation. "Can't you get it through your thick head? He doesn't want to be with the Headmaster, he's staying here," Harry couldn't help the clear resentment in his voice that settled like muddy silt near the bottom of the lake.

An ugly purple color rose onto her neck, grin faltering, "You've just earned yourself yet another detention; if you do not get that bird out of this class immediately, I won't hesitate to drag you to the Headmaster's office. Stealing is a serious offense."

Somewhere deep within himself, magic started to swirl tumultuously, "Don't treat him like... like an object!"

"Fine. You had your chance, brat." The plump woman yanked at his arm, forcing him up from his seat and pulling him out of the class after eyeing the students and ordering that they remain where they are or the consequences would be great.

For someone so stout and large, it was hard to imagine that she could move so fast, yet here he was, stumbling over every tenth step or so as her grip tightened and she trotted up the stairs.

He was reminded vaguely of Aunt Marge, "Let go!"

Fawkes flew overheard, angered and squawking yet hesitant to do anything unless the situation demanded action.

She glanced back towards him, still moving upwards, "Not a chance, brat."

The magic pumped out of his core, shooting through his body as if hitchhiking on the back of blood cells, setting him aflame with power and burning. He tensed his arms, hands clenching into fists, in an effort to control it and keep it from escaping. If he did something he could get in serious trouble; the best thing would be to calm down.

Breathing deeply, Harry regained his mind, thinking of the consequences of any possible future action he was going to take, and he allowed himself to be dragged up flights of stairs. He couldn't help but flinch as her nails dug into his skin.

Before he knew it, his face was pushed up right up next to the gargoyle's in front of Dumbledore's office before Umbridge pushed him aside, speaking a rushed password and pulling him forward into the room. He stumbled, going up a small staircase as she goaded him and pulling open a secondary door.

Albus looked at the pair that suddenly entered his office, blinking with a confused smile on his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"This bra-boy was extremely disrespectful in my class and..."

"She harassed me! And Fawkes! She dragged me up here!" they said at the same time, pointing accusing fingers in each others direction.

The elder man stood, "Now, now, one at a time. Delores, what were you saying?"

Harry felt exasperated and Fawkes rested back on his shoulder which he had been pushed off of, nipping at his ear to calm him down.

"He was purposely insulting, disobeying and showing a complete disregard for what I was saying. I asked him politely to take his, ah,_ pet_ out of class and return it to you, yet the incorrigible brat thought he had the right to dismiss my orders," she paused, throwing a menacing glare at the growling boy, "He was rude and majorly disrespectful, sir, I urge you to take administrative action! Suspension, at very least!"

The boy felt himself pale; suspension? "Administrative action"? What did that mean, did he have to go back with the Dursleys'? A headache sprung up from nowhere, making him lean forward to avoid the harsh sunlight streaming through the window behind Dumbledore.

"Harry, my boy, what's your side of the story?"

His shoulders shook, eyebrows knitting, "I didn't do anything! She was being rude to me and, and, she provoked me. She was mean to Fawkes, too; she called him an animal!"

"I did no such thing! The boy is a liar!"

The phoenix squawked at the woman, wings fluffing up again in denial of that notion.

Dumbledore smiled, laughing at the bird, "Fawkes, why don't you come over here?" he said, gesturing vaguely to a cold perch on his desk.

The bird stayed on Harry's shoulder.

Dumbledore's face dropped and there was an unidentifiable gleam in his eyes.

Harry supposed it was time to inform him that the bird wasn't going to be coming back. He had been putting it off, but surely the man had noticed by now that he hadn't seen the bird in a while. There was no way_ not_ to tell him. "Sir, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"

"The boy is attempting to trick you, sir, I..."

Dumbledore raised a hand towards her, causing her to stop speaking, "Delores, please, it will only take a second."

At this she grumbled and stepped out of the room, arms crossing over her rotund stomach.

When he couldn't hear her any longer, the boy started speaking, avoiding the man's eyes, "Fawkes isn't going to be coming back to you, sir."

The man smiled mirthlessly,"I assumed as much. Do you know why, my boy?"

"It wasn't because of anything you did, it was what I did," Harry admitted, "We... Fawkes and I, are bound to each other."

The man's brows raised high up on his forehead, the expression foreign to the boy because Dumbledore never seemed surprised by anything. He wondered if he should tell the man about the other phoenixes; he didn't trust him, yet he probably had to seeing as how it was soon that they were going to be a central part of Harry's life. There was no way to avoid this.

"But Fawkes isn't the only one that is bonded to me either," the boy continued, adding, "I am bonded with about, uh, a few other phoenixes too..."

At this, the Headmaster's face had become comically surprised. He looked like a caricature, characterized by the deep, outer wrinkles that framed his face, and the wideness of his eyes. "How did this happen, exactly?"

"I'm not sure myself, I just know that it did 'cause I can feel it," Harry lied, redirecting the topic, "The bond I have with them sorta means that I have to have regular contact and they need to be close to me, otherwise bad things happen, but the amount of phoenixes that are bound to me makes it... well, I wouldn't be able to bring them all to class with me and stuff, so I have to schedule around that. Right now I assume they're outside, waiting for me, in the cold, and I should see them soon."

The man stayed quiet, still dizzy from shock.

He looked down towards his shuffling feet, "I need to get permission to have them in class with me though, but I'm not allowed to go outside for a while. So, can you help me with this?"

The elder man was still, not moving or saying anything for such a long time that the boy glanced up to see if he were still there. At this furtive glance, the Headmaster shifted and sat back, wondering quite how to phrase what he was going to say, "I am glad you trusted me with this information Harry."

The boy pursed his lips, deciding not to ruin his happiness with the hard truth that the only reason he was saying all of this was because he absolutely had to. It's not like he could throw an invisibility cloak over all the phoenixes and cart them wherever he went.

"I would be honored to help, and I will make sure to inform your professors of this news, so more misunderstandings do not arise," the man glanced towards the door as he said this, hinting at the woman fuming on the other side. "You need regular contact with those phoenixes, right? We shall schedule this for tomorrow evening, if you can wait that long, yet right now I am occupied. Just how many are you bound to, my boy?"

"Quite a number of them," Harry said vaguely, "Can I go now? Class is over soon."

Dumbledore's shoulders hunched forward, eyes dimming once again. "Yes, my boy, I'll make sure to tell Umbridge that everything has been resolved."

Harry nodded, "Alright."

He left the man's office, heading back to DADA only for the purpose of getting his stuff back and hauling it to his next class. He trudged sleepily through Divination and Herbology, and the only redeeming thought in his mind was that in only a few hours, he could perhaps visit the library.

The last of his classes for the day were tiring yet comparatively dull to everything that had happened so far and, heaving his books over his shoulder after the sleepy lull induced by none other than Binns', Harry gladly escaped and plopped into a secluded corner of the library around 5:00 pm.

He liked this spot because it was relatively unnoticed and unchecked by both students and the hawkish eyes of Madam Pince. On top of that, there was a window just high enough that he could look out of it from where he sat, and bask in the light that spilled forth, yet not have any irritating sun glare.

Glancing suspiciously to his left and right, he settled back into the seat situated behind an oak table. He was alone.

It was with a touch of nostalgia that he remembered the long, hot days spent over the summer right at this very desk in this very chair; the type of days so overwhelmingly bright that it was with a struggle that the sun was smothered by the grassy hills in the distance, allowing the darkness to take over. It had only a few months ago that he had been here but it felt like ages, considering the way that everything around him had changed. Back then, when he was researching the mystery of his glowing hands, he had suffered from not knowing enough, but now? He was suffering from knowing _too_ much.

Along with his hands, the seasons changed too. The seemingly unconquerable heat was replaced with bitter cold and it was without reluctance that the sun creeped below the horizon. It felt like a completely different time, it felt like that grains of wood resting under his hand should have been different, that the chair beneath him should be different too, because he was so very different.

The glowing had taken everything, swallowed it, and spit it back up to be something new. He lied to everyone around him and he found himself caught in the web, trapped, and unable to escape or at very least unable to ignore it when he was right in the middle. It was like he was in a dungeon and the chains were the silver bands around his arms except there was no key. He was going to be stuck here forever all because something _chose him_ arbitrarily. And somehow he had survived it against all odds.

Merlin, his head felt like it was swelling.

'_Are you okay, child?_'

Finally, he was secluded enough to speak with the bird, "There's so much I have to do."

'_Do not evade the question_.'

Harry sighed, turning his head to look out the window, "I want to see them soon," he said, referring to the phoenixes, "I'm starting to feel... off. Tomorrow, right? Dumbledore said tomorrow?"

'_Yes, no need to sound to be so urgent. Undoubtedly, they are waiting for when you are able.'_

"Do you think they're cold out there? Are they okay? Are they gonna be angry with me?" The boy pushed into his eyelids with his thumbs hard enough to make lights appear under them.

Fawkes cuddled near his neck, '_They are fine, I assure you. And no, they will not be angry. They are aware that you are indisposed as of now._'

He swallowed a lump in his throat, all of the sudden feeling his head swell further and lethargy take over him. "Am I supposed to feel this bad right now?"

'_It will be okay, this is natural for your situation, I suppose_.'

The boy rubbed furtively at his chest, as if trying to find something that was missing as he peered at the darkening sky. His arms hurt.

After a while, he glanced over at a clock to see that it was 6:30 and he should be heading towards the dungeons by now.

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He stepped with a leisurely gait down the stairs, pulling at his too-tight collar and dreading whatever Snape had in mind for him. So far he had only done lines, but that doesn't mean the man wasn't trying to lull him in a sense of security that the punishments wouldn't be so bad. For all he knew, he could be dissecting something by now. Like frog's eyes or...

Not looking ahead of him, the boy bashed into someone and stumbled backwards. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized, scrambling to pick up the books knocked to the floor.

The girl towering above him said in a dreamy voice, "Harry."

The boy looked up from his position, picking up the last book and getting up awkwardly from his knees. "Luna, hey," he smiled, appreciating her unfazedness, "I haven't seen you in a week, how have you been?"

He handed the books to her, but she only groped for them blindly as she was caught looking at his arms. "Mother Earth has chosen very well," she enthused, reaching with slender fingers towards his wrist, "She does not give such magic lightly."

Harry paled and pulled his arm back, briefly looking at it to see if the glamour had fallen, "What?"

She gestured with her fingers, "May I see? The nargles are rather attracted to your hands, and I promise I won't remove whatever you've got over it."

He made a conscious effort to try and still his arms, yet they moved closer, as if seeking the secret mixture of thrill, fear and giddiness that another human soul knew about him, "You know? How?"

Luna cautiously grasped his right arm with both hands, and immediately it was as if a tidal wave of relief just below the skin washed over him, quieting his pounding head and making him more alert. He staggered backwards, overwhelmed. "Your magic is feeling rather lonely, did you know? Spend some time with her."

He couldn't see it, but he could feel the bands on his arm move underneath his skin, all trying to get closer to the girl's hands. With all the questions in his mind, the only thing he managed to ask was, "Her?"

Luna's head tilted in confusion, and she waved off his question, "The wrackspurts wish you luck."

The two of them stood in the middle of the staircase, the girl's hands never leaving his arm for many minutes, causing the waves to still crash into him- if such a word as harsh as _crash_ could even apply, "Thank them for me, I guess?"

She detached herself from his arm, pulling both hands over her books as if she expected to be knocked over again, and walked up the hall. "Wait, Luna!"

Her head turned, "Yes, Harry?"

"Please don't... don't tell anyone, will you?"

She smiled faintly, "Okay."

"Okay." he replied.

As her steps receded into the distance, and his head felt less dizzy, he realized that he wasn't as nervous as he should of been. Someone had found him out, someone knew now what he'd tried so hard to hide. But he felt... he felt okay with it. Like it wasn't so bad.

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A/N

well, well, sorry for the delay on this chapter but this week was unexpectedly busy.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: Minor swearing maybe

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There were many things that Harry hated about doing the dishes, such as how his hands would wrinkle like prunes after a few minutes, and how the soapy water would always encroach upon his sleeves and make them soppy wet. He supposed these small tragedies also applied to washing cauldrons in detention too, although he was so caught up in his thoughts that he couldn't even spare irritation towards it.

_Someone knows._ Those two words repeated in his mind as if playing on an infinite loop, and each time he thought it more slowly and more ominously as if to shake away the shock. He should be feeling bad, right? Horrified? Irrevocably terrified of whatever inevitable future awaits this realization?

But he felt okay. Almost a relief, actually, considering that he'd had it secret for so long and now another soul knew. It sent a perverse spark up his spine, yet at the same time gave him a sense of complacency. What's more, is that Luna didn't seem the faintest bit disturbed to know that he was a freak, but then again she had always been a little odd.

What if she tells someone? The girl never really could tell the right situation to say something from another, so that possibility was plausible.

She won't. She wouldn't go back on a promise, the boy knew.

His sponge dipped into the inner part of the cauldron, scrubbing harshly at the odd stains that were splattered around it. They were so gross that Harry supposed Professor Snape was waiting for the bacteria to build up before making the boy wash them.

Aunt Petunia would've never allowed it to get this bad; if only he had some bleach to counteract the acidity of the chemical stains, then maybe they would get a more polished look to them. He never knew if this idea was scientifically correct, but bleach fixed just about everything. Better yet, citrus or lime could surely hide the...

No, he should definitely be thinking about... about Luna, right? And what he was going to do with her? And just what was that sensation in his arms when she grabbed them?

_Someone knows_, he reminded himself.

Harry's arms felt like lead when he immediately stopped scrubbing, and he realized something, "Hey, professor?"

The man glanced up towards him briefly, "Yes?"

"Can we move my detention to earlier? Something really important is happening tomorrow night," he requested especially carefully.

Snape leaned back in his chair, "Such as?"

"Dumbledore is taking me to see some phoenixes."

The man's eyebrow flicked lazily in the air, expression dull, "And why is this more important than your detention with me?"

"It's sort of a long story but..." Harry paused, wondering just how to phrase it, "You remember that one day where I was outside and the phoenixes around the school landed on me?"

It may have just been his imagination, but the boy thought he saw the man's lip twitch in amusement. "Yes."

Harry tousled Fawkes' feathers with soapy fingers, "I'm kind of bound to them," he admitted, glancing towards the bird on his shoulder, "And Fawkes too."

If he felt at all surprised he didn't show it, "The Headmaster has already made me aware of your situation," he conceded.

"Then why did you keep asking me questions about it?"

"To see what you would say, of course," he replied, busily looking back down towards his papers.

Whether this was a sign that the man distrusted him or a sign of his curiosity, the boy didn't know. He scratched nervously at his elbow despite the mixture of soap and small bird feathers sticking to them, "I also wanted to say another thing."

The man looked up once again, gesturing at him to continue.

Harry glanced up towards the cold stones on the walls, "I don't know if it means anything to you," his breath trembled, "But I really am sorry for what I did, going to the Forbidden forest and all."

The professor said nothing, and this made the boy's stomach tighten.

"I couldn't understand that what I did to myself-putting myself in danger- affected the people around me, and I still don't," he added, "But I know that it does and I don't want to hurt my friends... and I didn't mean to make you worry, so I'll try to be better."

His toes curled anxiously in his shoes as he waited for the man to say something, and the cold air irritated the soapy water on his arms. His magic anxiously sloshed inside of him like someone trying to carry an overfilled glass of water without spilling a drop.

Snape sighed, "One day I hope you see that what those people did to you was wrong."

The boy didn't reply to this, "How can you not grasp the concept that other people have the ability to care about you?"

Harry fidgeted with his hands, "This isn't about the Dursleys'."

The man crossed his arms,"Oh, but it is. You'd risk your life for a house fly if you thought you could save it, just as how you'd risk your life for a petty adventure with no thought spared to either yourself or your friends."

The boy opened his mouth deny it, but couldn't, and he felt his eyes lock with the professors'.

"There's something you're not telling me." Abruptly his voice dropped low into a conspiratorial whisper, making Harry's veins pump with fear.

"It's an undeniably life changing secret, one that you feel you can't tell anyone."

It was like there was a drum in his head, pounding away and make his ears ring hollow. For some reason, he couldn't tear his own eyes away from the professor's- it was like they were linked, the man's onyx, swirling depths dragging him in further.

Snape suddenly jumped up from his seat, slowly approaching the boy,"It's been going on for a while, hasn't it? You're afraid to say it, aren't you? You feel like if you did, the secret would get out and everyone would dislike you for it."

Harry couldn't breathe as his throat constricted, eyes still anchored to Snape's.

"It has been something burning inside of you for a long while- from the moment you left the hospital wing that first time, from the moment I told you to show me your hands, right?"

Suddenly the boy remembered that day; he had been so happy to finally leave the hospital wing that his hands glowed very brightly, and there would've been no way to keep it from Snape had he not somehow hidden it, "There was nothing, you saw for yourself," the boy croaked.

The man got closer still, "There was, but it was hidden somehow, yes? Your anxiety gave it straight away- and right from then on, I knew something was going on. I could never figure it out though. What was it?"

As he felt some unmistakable brush sweep against his mind, he managed to tightly clench his eyelids and tear his face away from the professor's. His head hurt, pain swelling like tsunami waves only to collide against the shore of his consciousness. "Stop."

"What is your secret, Potter? What has been causing you so much anxiety that it keeps you up at nights thinking that someone is going to find out?"

Pedaling backwards, the boy stumbled until his back hit against the stone wall. "Stop, stop, don't..."

The man's inky black robes were like ghoulish phantasms that floated in his vision, reminding him strongly of the blackness of the Lake as he approached even closer. "Tell me."

"STOP IT!" a bloodcurdling scream, and suddenly his tightly controlled magic escaped him despite the presence of Fawkes. He could then hear an explosion rattle his ear drums; it made every cauldron and every glass bottle shatter into pieces so small that a _Reparo_ couldn't fix them.

The glass and metal cascaded like a blizzard of snow flakes, pieces sharpened like daggers aiming for his skin before his magic reached out yet again to create a shield over him and Snape. They bounced uselessly off of the strong blue orb surrounding him and hit the floor, covering it in a thin transparent layer.

The only thing he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, his heart rammed against his rib cage so hard that the boy was assured it was trying to escape. Magic in his core shot throughout his body, never quieting, and if it were a person he was sure it would've been growling.

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. Minutes that felt like hours passed until his breathing calmed down and his tunnel vision expanded.

A careful hand had been resting on his back, "Harry?"

He didn't reply for many minutes until his throat opened once again, willing and able, and of his own accord he said: "I do have a secret."

It was at that time that something monumental occurred and finally, for the first time in months, his lungs expanded with oxygen and he was able to say everything he had been stifling for months on end. There was no noose around his throat, and there was definitely no executioner to tighten the noose. He breathed easier.

The boy made no attempt to move, "When I had went into the Forbidden Forest, I wasn't out there to explore."

The man nodded solemnly, not surprised by this and not willing to say anything lest the boy change his mind about telling him.

Snape hauled the boy up by grabbing at the back of his robes, spelling the glass off of a large couch, and plopping him onto it. He didn't seem to notice.

"In fact, it wasn't even a choice of mine to go into the forest in the first place. Something... something inside of me led me there." His eyes shifted to the stones, looking glossed over in some distant memory, "I don't really remember it, but when it was over, I woke up the next day and I saw... I saw something on my arms and hands, something that had changed about them.."

Harry swished his fingers towards his wrists and slowly the glamour dissolved, causing silver, vine-like tendrils to spread across the length of them and meet back at a ball in the center of his hands. The professor gasped quietly.

"My hands glow," the boy admitted quietly, "They've been glowing ever since June this summer."

An ensuing silence, vaporous and sticky, permeated in the air and condensed on the walls like droplets of water. "Why did you keep this to yourself?"

The rope was around his throat again, making it close- making him choke once again,"Because I'm a freak," he admitted in a trembling whisper, "And I didn't want anyone to know it."

A sigh escaped from Snape, and he placed his hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder.

"It goes deeper than my hands, though, I... the glowing had been growing all summer and I'd been hiding it, trying to research it to get it away, but it never went," Harry fought against the proverbial rope that was on his throat again, "My magic core has been transforming into something, into some new type of magic called... called the _Old Magicks_, and when I went into the forest..."

Harry fidgeted, "That was the final transformation. That was a ritual called _The Awakening_, which is what Fawkes says, at least. I don't fully understand it."

"You can talk to the bird?" Snape asked.

"Ever since that night, I could. I think I can talk to all phoenixes now."

The silence returned, so very different from the gaseous state it was before, and now it formed an impenetrable barrier between the two. Something close to a solution of fear and sadness weighed in Harry's chest because he knew it was over. That finally everything had changed into something unrecognizable.

The boy leaned forwards, unable to look at the man's face, "I can understand if you hate me."

A lazy hand slapped the back of his head at that statement, "Daft boy, I don't hate you even though you did manage to completely ruin my office's potion supply."

"But I..."

"I could never hate you no matter what you've done or what you've kept from me."

He tried to stifle it, but a sob escaped from his mouth, making him clench his own hair in his still-soapy hands. His eyes stung as tears flowed freely from his face, and instead of crying from overwhelming sadness, he instead cried from an odd combination of relief and frustration. A sound escaped from his throat that was guttural, desolate and strangely lonely.

When the professor made circular motions with his hand across his back, his cries grew even more primal and manic. His lungs collapsed like flimsy cardboard boxes and he struggled to get enough air in. It felt like a chunk of him was missing and he couldn't think.

Hearing awed sounds of students and odd squawking just in the hallway past the office, the boy reluctantly pulled his head up from his hands. Abruptly a blur of different colors poured in through the door and as looked curiously, the colors suddenly bolted towards him, desperately trying to huddle closer and to mitigate the sensation of desolation in his chest.

Snape struggled to keep his composure, pulled backwards and stared at the spectacle wordlessly.

Harry laughed and wiped at his face. Immediately he felt much better but they still tried to cuddle closer, finding any available patch of skin to latch onto. The nasty-tempered purple bird bit at his hair and futilely tried to preen it while a limey green one brushed over his ticklish nose with his feathers. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed them, and while it had only been a few days, it certainly felt like a lifetime.

Everything didn't seem so bad now.

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A/N

Wow, I hope you like this chapter! Any constructive criticism you have would be much appreciated. It was hard to write.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing possibly, a trip to Angstville

Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, favorite-ing, etc. It makes me so very happy. :D

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It was raining outside. Well, it wasn't really rain, it was just November snow in denial, he supposed. The past few days had been wet or, more aptly, just sort of damp and strangely humid. It soaked the air and chilled the skin faster than dry snow could.

From this distance, if he were to look out the window, the ground would be covered in a translucent slushy substance that not even the first years seemed keen to enjoy. Everyone had been staying inside, huddled around common room fires and trying to dry themselves from the tangy pseudo sweat on the walls. It was a gross type of weather- a lazy Winter, or a Spring that was five months too early.

The smoke from the incense wafting through the air did nothing to alleviate this inherent grossness, either, which was a shame, seeing as how the smell would cling to his skin like feathers on tar.

The smell was acrid, like throwing bits of thick plastic into a campfire, but Professor Trelawney didn't seem to mind, "Now, class, I can't stress the importance of looking at the crystal ball from a forty-five degree angle enough..."

Harry sat back with a sigh which Ron mimicked, eyes wandering over the ceiling above his head when he got bored of the ball. It didn't show him anything anyways.

Trewlaney meandered through the class, weaving through seats tucked into small circular tables and eyeing the students, "Clear your Mind's Eye, see?", she paused, stopping by Parvati's desk, "Yes, yes, very good, Ms. Patil. Each day your eye is a little clearer- it's a shame that not all of the students in this class can possess such clarity into the nuances of future times."

Harry rolled his eyes, elbowing Ron when he started to snicker too loudly, and watched the rapid rush of pride on Parvati's cheeks.

He concealed a yawn, propelling himself forward to rest his elbows on the table and wipe at his eyes crusty with tiredness. Finding a lack of anything of any particular interest to stare at, he looked into the ball on the table.

The professor's bony hand rested abruptly on his shoulder, and he flinched slightly. "Having a little trouble, are we?"

She leaned closer to the crystal ball, bringing it an inch closer to him, and her skeletal fingers dug even more tightly into his shoulder. Harry turned his head slightly to watch her when she didn't say anything and didn't move for a few moments, and he felt his gut stir in apprehension.

Her hazel eyes were deeper,_ darker_, somehow, and it was only now that the boy had realized after three years in her class that her skin stretched taut over her bones went past her frail hands- it was like she was a puppet, not able to support herself, and the striking angularity of her face suggested that she lived a life of deprivation. Her cheeks were shallow concave regions, flesh grotesquely pulled so tight that her lips were a thin, wrinkly line. It was like she was a flower wilting before his very eyes; like a decayed corpse on strings.

Her skin seemed to get almost imperceptibly darker too, just like her eyes, not as though she was changing color but as if... as if... what was the word? He couldn't come up with it, but he could tell something was happening, something was stilling her so much that it was like a shadow was passing over her.

Something wasn't right, he realized, something was very, very _off_ about all of this. But he couldn't place his finger on it, on the singular thing that made him try and twist out of the surprisingly strong grip of Mrs. Trelawney.

When he looked around, the students were conversing in hushed tones as they usually did, giving the occasional animated gesture to get a point across about some trivial topic. But no one saw what he saw.

He glanced over at Ron, jabbing at his elbow and glancing quickly up towards the professor before down back at the boy again, as if to look for confirmation that his friend was just as creeped out as he was.

Ron blinked, not at all perturbed, "Something wrong, mate?"

Harry settled back in his seat, waiting for the woman to get her hand off of his shoulder. If only the grip weren't so tight, he could wrench himself loose.

He turned back to look at her again, mouth opening in question, before he almost screamed at her appearance- her large eyes, which were perpetually magnified by her round, red glasses, were now inhumanly large, the black depth of them seeming to rummage through the contents of his soul. "Mrs..."

Suddenly her eyelids stretched halfway over the glassy bulbs in her sockets, looking very demeaning, "How pitiful."

Harry shuddered visibly at the sickening, shrill sound. "Excuse me, professor?"

Her tone was a roguish whisper, "Weak. worthless. I know what you are, you can't hide it from me," she stopped, and waved at the class to gather their attention. More loudly, she added, "You can't hide what you are from them, either!"

The woman jabbed her wand at his arms, causing the glamour to tremble like a dilapidated building in an earthquake, and then finally crumble. He choked on his own spit, shocked, as everyone stared, eyes bulging as if trying to escape from their sockets.

Trelawney cackled, "See, class? Do you see? He's just a freak! A worthless freak!"

The students laughed, pointing, faces twisted into insane grins.

His eyes went from the writhing silver bands on his arms to Mrs. Trelawney and he gasped, face turning a shade of pastel. The first thing he felt was her fingers thicken into rolled, meaty sausages over his shoulder, then her eyes shrunk into black soulless beads. Her face thickened with fat and her belly expanded so far that it tugged at her flowery, loose tunic. The bushy hair on her head fell out onto her shoulders and onto the ground, a meaty sneer on her face- and then standing right in front of him was none other than Uncle Vernon.

He writhed under the man's grip, confused and horrified as the laughs grew louder and louder like ritualistic chants.

Vernon grabbed at both of his shoulders, shaking him like a limp rag dolls, "Freak! Everyone knows it, freak! Worthless! You're nothing, boy, you got that?" he jeered, laughing, and jabbed a finger at him, "And look, it's branded on you too!"

Harry tore his eyes away from his uncle's staring in abject horror at his arms- the silver bands slithered like serpentine creatures under his skin, making him whimper in pain, as suddenly they spelled out a word: FREAK.

Abruptly there was a burning sensation and the word was burned underneath his flesh, puffing up and swelling with pus like a fresh wound- the silver bands crawled out from his arms again, onto his back, stopping and forming another word- WORTHLESS, and burning into him again. He twitched, screaming until his lungs shriveled like dry raisins, as the silver moved all across his body, branding him with such extreme pain that the laughter in the background was only white noise.

A leery voice whispered in his ear, "Now everyone knows."

He stared back at Vernon's eyes that gleamed with something sickening- and the blackness in them expanded over his vision, drawing him in, until it was the only thing he could see. It was the Lake, he was in the Lake again and nothing but black surrounded him.

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From blackness to blackness again.

A helpless gasp tore from his throat, the sole sound bringing him back to reality and his torso wrenching from the sweaty sheets until he sat fully upright. His breaths were heavy and panicked, hands groping in the air blindly. He was sure that if he could see himself, he would've looked like a rabid animal- pupils dilated unnaturally, eclipsing his green irises, a sheen of glistening sweat coating his body and the musky scent of hostile fear wafting off of his shivering frame.

For a moment he wondered if he had been down in the Lake, tangled in seaweeds and coated in silt- like he had never left at all, like he had never been saved by Fawkes. He dismissed this idea entirely when he heard the harsh patter of snow on the pane of glass near his bedside and a soft snore from Ron.

A dream. It was only a dream. He was awake now. Nothing could hurt him- absolutely nothing, because he was safe. He was at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was home.

Despite this reassurance, he still jerked uncontrollably like a seizure victim, body twitching exaggeratedly whenever he felt even the faintest touch of wind travel over his back- it reminded him too much of Trelawney's hands on his shoulder, holding him in place, firm and unforgiving...

He shouldn't of told Snape. No, no, no he shouldn't have. What had he been thinking? Did he truly believe that the man would do anything other than expose him for what he was? Too many people knew because he was too careless- besides Snape, there was Luna and, well, Draco had a hunch.

What had he done- why? Too many mistakes. He couldn't have that, not anymore, and he'd be lucky if nothing happened because of this. _You can't start believing that people won't treat you differently, Harry. _

He shuddered even more, pulling the comforter around his shoulders damp with sweat, and tried to forget the vivid imagery of the dream. It had been a warning to him, most likely. He was a freak in the other world, he didn't know what he'd do if he were a freak in this world too...

'_Are you okay, child?_' Even in the darkness, the boy could distinctly see two pairs of bright eyes drawn over towards him.

He frowned, closing the space between his calves and his thighs, "Bad dream."

A soft moon light radiated from the window and shone through the gap in the curtains around his four poster beds, allowing him to see that the-yellow?- bird was hopping from the headboard onto his shoulder, nuzzling up to him in a way that was reminiscent of Fawkes. The phoenix said nothing, providing him a silent comfort that almost made him tear up, before a darker shaded bird- perhaps green- hopped onto his other shoulder.

Peaking through the curtains, he realized that none of the other boys were roused from sleep, and he cast a Silencing charm over the perimeter of his bed so that they couldn't hear. "Do you think it was a good idea to tell Snape... about my hands, I mean?"

_'Yes. He cares for you quite a lot_,' the yellow feathered phoenix answered.

The greener bird lifted her head, '_Such a thing is obvious.'_

Harry stiffened, anxious, "So you don't think he'll tell anyone?"

'_Was this what your nightmare was about?'_

"Yeah, well, partly."

The yellow phoenix perked up, '_You should tell us_.'

The boy found himself unable to lie as the words bubbled past his lips, "I was in Divination and Trelawney- that's my professor- came by and removed the glamour on my arms and called me..." he paused, "called me a freak. Then everyone was laughing at me, and she..."

The two picked up on the hesitancy with which the boy spoke, '_And she...?_'

"She turned into my uncle," the boy whispered it so low as to be nearly inaudible.

The phoenixes felt apprehensive, '_I do not understand; why does this cause so much fear in you?'_

Vague memories stirred in Harry's head, catapulting into the deep recesses of his own mind. He twisted his neck slightly as if trying to scare away a pesky fly and he focused his eyes towards a singular point in space right above his line of sight. "I lived with him after my parents died," he admitted, voice raspy, "he wasn't the nicest man."

Harry felt two pairs of talons dig into his shoulder, and felt anxious at the much darker, more threatening tone that lingered in the affable yellow phoenixes' voice, '_Did he hurt you, Child?'_

He couldn't believe that after all this time his eyes still stung with tears whenever he thought about it, "Yes."

He jolted up with a gasp when, immediately after his admission, a sorrowful sound echoed in his ears. It borrowed through his skin and muscle, latching onto his bones and resonated with something inside of him. Suddenly a sadness so deep and so unimaginable bloomed in his chest, weighing it down with leaden weights, making his limp form sink lower into the bed. Only a minute or so later, the sound cut off, letting the feeling evaporate just as soon as it had come, like how the roots of trees forcibly drag water out from the soil. It left him empty and then he realized, with a dimmed sensation of gratefulness, that it had only been a phoenix's lament. Thank Merlin he put a silencing charm over his bed.

'_How? How did he hurt you?_' the yellow one griped, voice calm yet underlining his sadness.

Harry flinched slightly when he felt wings waver over his back, and he could tell the two birds were preparing to heal him, '_Are you still hurt? Does anyone know of your injuries?'_

"No! No! Snape healed me a while back, over the summer, when I got to Hogwarts. I'm okay, really," the boy stressed, "It's not like he did much either, just slapped me around and left the occasional bruise."

The phoenixes squawked loudly in his ear, riled up, '_Slapped you around? He dares to slap you around? It is a crime against nature Herself, and it mustn't go unpunished!'_

Harry twisted, annoyed, "Can we just stop talking about this? Pretend I didn't say anything, alright?"

'_No, we must speak of this, we can't just dismiss it_.'

The boy clamped his hands to his ears, looking distinctly childish. "Yeah, well, I'm not saying anything! 'Cause nothing happened, absolutely nothing, got that? My uncle _adores_ me, buys me everything I could ever need, sends me letters to say how much he misses me when I'm at school, and thinks I'm absolutely normal!" he yelled in response, "Okay? He'd have never laid a finger on a precious hair on my precious little head. He would tell me how great I am. How smart I am. He'd put my drawings up on the fridge. He'd tell all the neighbors that I was _his_ kid, that he loved me as much as his son. He never kicked, slapped, or belted me. He never broke one of my bones. He never made me scrub the floors until my hands bled. He never stuffed me in a cupboard or... or..."

It was by this time that Harry realized he was crying and wiped viciously at his eyes, "I need Fawkes. Where is Fawkes?"

Neither answered him, looking sadly at the boy, and he waved them off of his shoulder. '_Where are you going?'_ they asked in unison as he ripped off his comforter.

"I need air. I'm going to the common room. Please just, just, leave this for later?"

They realized that he wouldn't be saying anything anymore, and decided to give him some time to think.

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The next few days passed in a haze for Harry, his emotions fluctuated from great relief to a deep anxiety, and it was hard to keep track of just what was going on.

Every few minutes, his mind would wander off, and he'd find himself wondering if it were the right think to do by telling Snape. With each passing hour he thought someone, somewhere, would come out of a hallway and confront him, or that Dumbledore would whisk him away to his office to "have a chat". When this didn't happen, Harry was left feeling simultaneous confusion, relief, and wariness for some great misfortune that would arrive soon.

Just as how he had avoided Snape, he had stayed clear of Luna too, not to hurt the girls feelings, but because he needed to figure this all out. He was trapped in a whirl of mixed emotions and a few times he had caught his own magic stirring anxiously in his arms, wanting to be released.

The one positive side of all of the things which had occurred, was that he had finally dealt with one pressing issue in his daily life: how to spend time with all the phoenixes so he does not feel that negative effects of distance in the bond. Each class period, he'd have a different bird perched on his shoulder and, while this obviously was accompanied by whispered questions and harsh stares from the other students, Harry felt distinctly more calmed and happy with them nearby. The questions were something he'd have to get used to and, speaking of questions...

It was during one rowdy lunch in the Great Hall that Hermione approached him, making his spoon of soppy oatmeal plop into the bowl as he looked at her, waiting.

Immediately he launched into an apology, "I'm sorry that I-"

But she quickly interjected, "Can you tell me more about those phoenixes? Where did they come from? Do you know why they are around you? I've looked through every book I could find on the subject of magical creatures but..."

The boy laughed and looked at her with mirth, and she looked back at him too, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and I forgive you of course, just don't be so stupid next time. Exploring the Forbidden Forest, I mean, honestly?"

Harry nodded eagerly, grinning, and waved her into a seat parallel from his. "You'll never let this go, will you?"

She sat down, "Nope."

He chuckled again and she leaned closer, asking more fervent questions about the phoenixes in hushed tones. He answered them as best he could, obviously leaving a lot of things out, but was too happy to be annoyed by the interrogation. He had missed Hermione, after all.

The most positive thing about all the phoenixes around him was going to Umbridge's class and watching her grumble in defeat and irritation; Dumbledore had given a sort of "pass" to all his teachers for the birds to be allowed to be with him even during class time, and as such he had been excused from his early morning detention given by the DADA professor. He stifled mischievous grins into his textbook whenever she got close, getting the impression that he had won this small battle.

It was one cold evening when he was curled up by the fireplace in the common room and, not able to sleep, had been the last one to be there after all of the stragglers left. Fawkes was resting on his shoulder, staring at the the lively flames that crackled in the air.

'_Are you well, Harry?_'

The boy frowned in thought, he didn't quite know what to make of the question, "As well as can be expected."

Fawkes nipped at his ear, '_That was rather vague. Does that mean good? Bad?'_

"Why wouldn't I be okay in the first place?" He tousled the bird's feathers reluctantly.

The phoenix stilled, '_A lot of things have happened over the summer as well as this school year, it would not be an erroneous conclusion to make to say that you would be feeling saddened or stressed, perhaps grieving._'

"I adjust quickly."

Fawkes bowed his head, '_That is not an answer._'

"First the others and now you? Why does everyone want to know how I'm doing? I'm not going to off myself or something."

The bird pinched into his shoulders, '_I never said you were, child, I'm merely saying you have been through many harrowing events, even before your magic started changing..._'

Harry stilled, sighing, "Are you talking about my relatives?"

'_Yes._'

The boy smiled mirthlessly, "What about them?"

'_I think you have not properly grieved over what they've done to you._'

"So, some of the others have you told you about it? About my nightmare?"

'_Yes._'

"Well, don't get any ideas. I've had enough therapy sessions for a life time and I don't feel like talking about it."

_'You barely talk about it at all, and when you do, you break down. You haven't told anyone besides a professor, if I have guessed right, and you never prompt a discussion about them yourself,'_ the bird said, '_It is a bad sign when you won't even tell those that share a portion of your own soul that you have been abused this way._'

The boy leaned back, eyes more focused on the fire. "They didn't hurt me that bad and it's not like I didn't deserve..."

Fawkes harshly tugged on his hair, forcing him to wince and stop, '_If you dare end that sentence by implying that you deserved to be treated that way, I will not be able to ever forgive you for thinking something so horribly backward. Those beasts had the gall to hurt a child, an innocent child, and not just any child- the child that has been granted the Magic of the Soul. Mother Earth would tear herself in two if she ever heard you speak such words, so deep Her grief would be.'_

Harry stopped, feeling a pang of guilt. "I don't want to hurt Her," he replied sadly, before even realizing he had said it; why did it seem that everyone was talking of some sort of "Mother Earth"? Was it just a way to describe nature itself, or was it a personification that existed within reality? Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel bad for hurting something even though he perceived it to be nonexistent anyways.

'_I want to help you, child, I do. But you've got to help yourself. It hurts me more than you can ever know that you think of yourself so harshly.'_

The boy nodded noncommittally.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

Wow, sorry for the delay! I have a bunch of school work until winter break, so updates will be a little slow until then.

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Harry pouted, shoulders hunching forward, "Why do I even have to go to these anymore? We both know that it wasn't even my fault."

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose inbetween his forefinger and his thumb, "You were so adamant that no one else be let on the secret about your trip to the forest, not even the Headmaster, that it would be far too suspicious to immediately stop these detentions."

The boy's frown deepened. "But, I mean, I haven't come for a few days anyways, so doesn't that already blow my cover and make this useless?"

"Which is why I've told the Headmaster that you skipped detentions." The man sat back in his desk, perusing lazily through a potion's journal, "Now, get to it. May I remind you that you did destroy hundreds of galleons worth of potions last week, and these new crystal phials need restocking."

With an exaggerated sigh, and one last pleading glance towards an oblivious Snape, Harry intentionally dragged the small stool against the floor in such a way that it caused an irritating screech. A tawny, auburn feathered phoenix blinked at him from his designated perch above the cabinetry. _'It's not so bad, is it?_'

Harry inspected the ribbed patterning of the phial in his hand carefully, realizing that it was meant for soluble solutions, and sliding it to the back of a cabinet on the far left."It's just annoying, I guess," he whispered, glancing towards the professor. "I could be doing other things like..."

The boy trailed off, getting lost in the task, as he picked up more assortments of differently shaped phials. Some were smooth, shaped to be exquisitely curvilinear for softer potions like _Amortentia_, while others were more bulbous or angular for things like _Boil Cure_. He supposed this was entirely for labeling purposes to tell the difference between acidic or basic solutions and not necessarily because the potions mandated this sort of storage in order to be usable, but he wasn't quite sure. They were all brewed in spherical cauldrons, so what would the difference be? Preservation?

Humming quietly to himself, the boy picked up a particularly large phial that jutted outwards like a bowl but sloped back inwards and seemed to funnel itself to a fine point at the very top. He edged it towards the back of the cabinet, and thought secretly to himself that this wasn't so bad. It was kind of nice just getting distracted in something for a long while.

It was thirty silent minutes later when the scratch of quills on parchment stopped, the sound of a chair creaking as if someone were leaning backwards, and the boy could scarcely tell that Snape had left the room.

_'Harry?_'

He jolted slightly in shock at the unexpected voice in his head, the step stool trembling beneath him at the abrupt and unexpected movement. He leaned forward and grappled onto the open cabinet door to balance himself, not having realized that the hinges were weak until they broke under his weight and sent the wood tumbling.

It was almost comical watching the domino effect- the wooden slab rocketed to the ground, leaving Harry with nothing to hang onto, until he leaned backward, arms whirling manically in another fruitless attempt at balance. The step stool trembled, slipping at the odd pressure in such a way that it propelled him forwards to stagger on the table and bash into the cabinets at the momentum. As he ear collided against the handle on the cabinet door, he could hear the sound of glass falling, bumping into other phials and causing them to fall too, until they broke in a heap. Startled, he retracted, forgetting that there was very little table underneath him and grabbing once again at the top of the cabinets. They creaked against the walls at the added weight, breaking and crashed onto the table surface which then caused Harry to jump atop them reflexively.

He gasped, chuckling forcefully, and eyed the damage with a rapidly paling expression. Abruptly the tops of the cabinets that he rested on gave way underneath him, causing the slab of wood to cave into the cabinet filled with broken glass. The slab protected him from most of the impact, yet he yelped when he felt something poke into his arms that had rocketed up from the force of the wood colliding into it at just the right angle.

The boy jolted like a cat, scrambling off of the table and landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor. He rubbed at his arms, feeling the sting of something poke into it, and looked back at the utterly destroyed cabinets and expensive glass phials.

Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. Harry jumped to his feet, groping at it, trying to find some way to fix it. Thank god Snape wasn't here.

His mind barely registered a weight on his shoulder, '_Child, are you okay? What are you doing!'_

"Gotta fix it. Gotta fix it," he griped, skin paling to the color of cottage cheese, "Before he gets back..."

His hand reached forward, the sleeves of his robes pooling at his shoulder. The auburn phoenix said something that sounded vaguely exasperated, but the boy wasn't really listening.

'_You're hurt, I must get the professor...'_

The weight left his shoulder, giving him the freedom to pace around the mess and push futilely at the pile of wood of glass. He choked in a rush of anxiety, feeling like his body was filling with liquid and slowly drowning him as memories brimmed to the top of his head- he waded through them, brushing them off.

Have to fix it. Have to fix it.

His magic swelled with the same liquid anxiety that filled him too, and zipped out of his eager hands without restraint. Immediately the cabinets wobbled, moved by some unseen force, until they steadily rose in the air and bashed with a little too much force against the back wall, causing some of the glass from the phials to jump out of the open doors. He ignored it though, focusing solely on getting it to _stick- _if he could only get it to stick...

Like there was a strong magnetic attraction, the cabinets popped obediently onto the wall like they had never fell off at all- but they were crooked. Harry unlatched them with his magic, the only sound he could hear was the pulse of blood in his ears. Have to fix it. Have to fix it.

It was simple to get them to dislodge from the wall, but keeping them steady with his trembling hands was a problem.

Have to get it perfect. Have to get it perfect.

As if an invisible hour glass whizzed in his mind, he could innately feel that time was running out.

Have to fix it. Have to fix it.

He can fix it. He can do it. Before Uncle Vernon gets home. Aunt Petunia's china plates aren't broken... he didn't do it. He didn't do it. He can fix it.

Past the swell of blood that rushed through his ears, Harry thought that he could hear footsteps.

No. No. No. Oh no. God no. Please no.

The cabinets, no longer under the concentration of his magic, stilled in the air for a moment before they crashed into the tables again, making the room shake with the sound of a small explosion.

The steps got closer, louder, and more frequent until...

BOOM.

The door slammed open, rebounding on the wall with a great clang, making the ringing in Harry's ears swell to a crescendo.

He could scarcely recognize the tall, looming figure in his tunneling vision, his own eyes narrowing to fearful slits.

A gasp, a noise, a name- the figure grew in his vision, and he jumped three feet in the air as it grabbed his arm.

Rather than feeling the sweaty, meaty fingers of the man he had expected, he was almost startled back to reality when he realized the grasp was unusually gentle.

He squeaked, "Sorry."

"Daft boy..."

He scuttled backward, trying to wrench his arm out of the man's grip, gasping. "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Are you okay?"

His trembles subsided as the three words, spoken so poignantly and with such a level of the concern, rang in his ears. His vision expanded, and he now only realized where he was after the state of panic. The two weights on his shoulders were now apparent.

Fawkes. And the auburn bird, who had yet to tell Harry his name. And then Snape was there. And the vicious sting in his arms returned.

His eyes focused downward, face coloring with a rush of red, and suddenly the sting evaporated when Snape incanted something. Right afterwards liquid, perhaps phoenix tears, were dripped onto the open wounds on his arms.

"Potter, are you okay?"

He glanced up at Snape, frowning. "Yeah. Sorry." he paused, relishing the silence, "I thought... I just thought..."

"What?"

The boy ducked his head, shoulders hunching protectively, "Nothing. I'm sorry. I'll just go now or..."

He could sense concern laced in the man's irritated voice, "Are you insane? Sit down."

He plopped him into a chair. "How is it that you always manage to get yourself into these messes?"

Harry didn't reply, eyes hovering slightly above his line of vision.

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*This chapter was reposted, had to fix a tinsy tiny mistake along the lines of using dollars instead of galleons XD

"Trouble follows you like a lost puppy..." the man grumbled to himself.

A potion was shoved into his hands a moment later, a pink viscous concoction that radiated warmth from the vial, which he could only assume was a Calming Draught. He downed it eagerly in one gulp, shoulders feeling like they were collapsing and lurching forward. The warmth spread from his toes to his head, making him feel like he had just been dipped into a vat of honey and making his mind pleasantly fuzzy.

It was a moment before the man spoke again, "What is it that you were going to say?"

"Say what?" Harry could feel his face burn.

The man's eyes narrowed, "You know what I mean."

Harry swallowed the remnants of the sticky pink potion in his mouth, gulping awkwardly at how it fused uncomfortably to his throat, "It doesn't matter."

"To me, it does."

The boy sighed, Fawkes nuzzling into his shoulder yet saying nothing, "I just thought that I was, that I was, _back there_ again."

Keeping his eyes firmly planted on Snape's nose, he could tell by how his lips pursed into a thin line that the man knew exactly what he was talking about. "Back where, exactly?"

Fawkes stilled entirely.

"With my uncle," he admitted quietly.

"What do you think caused this?"

The boy almost hissed vehemently at the continuing interrogation, yet stilled. "When I broke the..." he trailed off, arm wavering over to the unsightly mess at the other side of the office, "Yeah, well, when I broke that over there, I remembered something from when I was younger."

Snape goaded him on, leaning closer intently.

"I thought I was back there again because...well... my aunt, she has this shelf where she puts all the nice porcelain dishes," Harry said, "She liked them so much that she wouldn't ever let me touch them or even wash them 'cause they were so valuable; I think once I even looked at them a little too long and she hit me over the head with a newspaper..." he laughed.

Snape shifted uncomfortably, watching the boy.

"So, anyways, once when I was six-or seven- I was finishing up my chores and Dudley- that's my cousin- came home with his friends; I was in the kitchen and..." Harry paused, eyes looking at some undefined point, "he knocked into me, and I knocked into the shelves, and the plates at the very top wobbled. He ran out of the house, and the plate tipped; the glass doors weren't open, so it didn't end up falling or breaking... but I know if my aunt saw it tipped over from its stand like that... that there would be consequences."

The boy shook slightly, "I opened the doors, and I grabbed a chair from the dining room table. I tried to reach to the top but I was too short, so I was balancing on my toes and accidentally wobbled the shelves again. The plates wobbled again and a lot of 'em fell out..."

He trailed off, "They broke... most of them, anyways."

The boy stopped abruptly and Fawkes nudged him. "And, what happened after that?"

"I got up and I ran to my cupbo..." Harry stopped, flushing red.

"Your _what?_" the man hissed. "_Cupboard?_ Were you going to say_ cupboard_?"

His voice dropped so low as to be deadly, lingering on the damnable word like venom would linger in the veins of a viper's crushed prey.

Harry said nothing, his eyes oddly drawn to the professor's. "No..."

Abruptly a scene flashed in his mind involuntarily, staying there, before shifting to a new scene.

_ His cupboard. Vernon tugged on his hair throwing him into his... _

_"Get to your...!", _

_"You'll be lucky if you come out of there before Christmas, I swear on my life, boy!", peering through the crack in the... _

_a messy crayon scribbling tacked on the small wall adjacent from him..._

_HARRY'S ROOM, it said._

He pulled himself back, hissing, and forced the intruder out of his mind. What was that?

He heard the man rise to his feet angrily before he saw it, "They made you stay in a... in a..._ closet_! They made you stay in a place meant for _brooms_ and _mops_!"

Harry's face turned redder than a beet. The embarrassment was so thick that it engulfed him like he was in a giant cauldron full of marshmallowy, billowing goop from a failed potion. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't breathe.

"Those... those beasts..." the professor paced, steps clattering against the floor and his hand itching to practice all sorts of illegal magic.

Harry rose to his feet dizzily, head stuffed with cotton balls, and ran out of them room with his hands squeezing into his face.

Merlin. He was never supposed to find that out. No one was ever supposed to find that out.

One thing, that was all he asked for, all he wanted was to keep _one measly scrap of dignity_ but that was ripped away from him like everything else. One more secret gone. One more secret exposed. One more thing out in the open. One more thing that would inevitably leak. One more thing that everyone would know. One more thing that everyone would laugh at.

Fawkes and the other brown phoenix were jostled off of his shoulders and flew overhead, '_Please, child, stop..._'

Not looking, the boy bumped into someone, stumbling backwards and carefully eyeing the indignant figure in front of him.

Malfoy glared at him, brandishing his wand, "Watch where the hell you're going, Potter!"

Great. Just great.

He shook in anger, "Go away."

"Hey! These are my dungeons, Potter, you go away..." the boy muttered, glaring more balefully, "What is it that you are doing here, anyways? Quite suspicious."

Harry didn't trust himself to speak.

Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow, raising his chin in the air, "What would a Gryffindor be doing here, making his way through the snake den? Detention, perhaps, with Snape?"

"There's already one Lucius Malfoy in the world, there doesn't need to be a copy. A bad one at that," the boy remarked.

His face reddened, "I'm the one who's got something over you, if you don't remember our little talk in the hallway."

"You don't know half of my secret. No, you don't even know a tenth of it, so don't bother even trying."

Draco smirked, "Oh, really? Even if I don't figure out what little secret you've got- which is highly unlikely, I might add- others will."

The boy remained silent.

"Everyone's suspicious of you, even the Hufflepuffs aren't so oblivious as to not see it. There are those birds around you all the time, the sudden power you show in class..." his voice grated on Harry's ears, "In time, everyone will know what you are."

Malfoy glanced over to Harry, waiting for a prompt, before continuing. "In time, I will have what you have that, at this moment, makes you just a _titch_ more talented than I am."

Harry breathed through flared nostrils.

"I'm already onto you, Potter; I've heard certain whispering in the hall about a certain... ah, what was the world? _Old Magicks_?" Draco laughed, voice nasally and shrill in a mocking tone.

The boy suddenly felt the blood disappear from his face, angry expression faltering.

Malfoy chuckled again, "You really should be more careful where you say things."

He looked searchingly at the boy, fixed his tie and walked briskly past Harry as if he had never run into him at all.

The boy trembled, "Shit."


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I'm making no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

Sorry this chapter is so short! They won't all be like but I wanted to end it a certain way.

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The transition from November into December was marked by many things- firstly, it seemed that the moment the first rolled around, every single student was hit by some wayward spell that had them chattering nonstop about Winter Break. Secondly, everyone had finally eased into their respective rolls, the seventh years had finally gotten over the shock that this was their "last year" and the professors had become acquainted with the incoming first years. Thirdly, and perhaps the most welcome change, was the increasing snowfall which made December feel, well, more "Decembery."

Everyone loved carols and wreathes and that damned Christmas music by Celestina Warbeck. It was only the first week of December and Harry knew he could probably recite "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" backwards and in his sleep, much to his chagrin.

The last and most stressful change of all was how Harry now avoided Snape like an outbreak of Dragon Pox. He didn't think he could bear to even glance at the man, let alone sit in the same room with him, which made Potions especially dreadful. Every lesson he'd sit in the back, head bowed low to the desk when he was note taking, but even then he was still drenched in regret.

That man had found the most embarrassing, most well kept secret, of his entire life all because he slipped up. All because he said the word "cupboard"; not even the full word. That was all that it had taken, and the mere memory of that detention made him shudder visibly. Harry could only pray to whatever merciful god existed in the sky that the professor had refrained from telling anyone else.

So, with that in mind, Harry stopped attending any of his assigned detentions and the few times that professor Snape had told him to "stay after class", the boy had slipped into the crowd and disappeared right as class was dismissed. He didn't think he was even capable of ever looking the man in the eye again.

Spending yet another block of hours in the library, when he was supposed to be serving the time with Snape, Harry perused unseeingly into a large book about the 713 most committed Quidditch fowls.

He stopped, bowing his head into the crooks of his elbows and having his hands run through his hair. Try as he might, he couldn't focus at all. His mind kept replaying That Memory over and over again as if it were intentionally trying to taunt him.

_"I got up and I ran to my cupboa-"_, Cupboard. Cupboard. Cupboard. Why, _why_, did he say that? Idiot.

His head plopped onto the wooden table, pushing the book aside, and he meticulously studied the large, blurry grains underneath his eyes. This is exactly the sort of thing that happened whenever he confided in people.

He was going to have to confront the professor sometime, he knew, there was absolutely no way to avoid it, but with a little bit of a luck he could push it past the winter break. He turned in all his work, he did all the assigned essays, so there would be no pressing reason the man would have to speak with him soon, right?

A small voice interrupted his thoughts, making his head perk up from the table, "Harry?"

The boy smiled at Luna, giving a lackluster wave, "Hey."

She didn't smile back, and blinked. "Did you hear about what happened to the President of the Mermish Society? It's in the latest Quibbler."

Harry suppressed his lip twitching in vague amusement, "No, I'm sorry, tell me all about it."

Luna didn't say anything for a moment and stared at him unabashedly, "You are unhappy."

The boy straightened back up against the chair he was in, crossing his arms coolly, "I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Why?"

Harry frowned at the question, "What gives you the idea that I'm unhappy?"

"Your magic- She's feeling lonely, yes? She wishes you were happy, Mother Earth does too," Luna replied vaguely, eyes glistening, "so why aren't you?"

The boy quieted, eyes shifting to look over at the expanse of shelves to his left. He wouldn't say he was unhappy, just unsettled. Or disquieted. "That's a loaded question."

She plopped into a chair parallel to his, still staring oddly at him. She was waiting for something, he realized.

Looking back towards the girl, he sighed, "I'm okay."

She didn't reply.

"I'm fine."

She continued to stare.

"I'm not that bad..."

Luna tilted her head slightly.

"What is that you want me to say?"

"Why it is that you are unhappy," she answered.

"But I'm not."

"But you are."

Harry shifted in his seat slightly as if he was trying to shake of the girl's gaze, "A lot of things have been happening lately."

The girl nodded, accepting the answer in its vague entirety. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

That was really all she wanted to know? Really? "That's it?"

"Yes."

The boy felt a tidal wave of relief in his gut, and it was refreshing to have someone who didn't breathe down his neck. She was so unlike the other students in that she didn't wonder as to his intentions. She was so unlike his friends in that she accepted his answers. And, most of all, she was so unlike Snape in that she didn't try to pry away at him, layer by layer, to find his deepest inner secrets.

And this, Harry supposed, was the very reason why he found himself opening his mouth, starting to say something more even though it was not asked for. "My summer was very... very..." he paused, wondering just what he was doing, "bad."

She leaned forward, "I see."

"And I just had detention with Snape recently." He blinked, thinking about how nonsensical he sounded right now.

She didn't say anything and just listened.

"When I was in detention, I... I broke some of his stuff and I freaked out about it 'cause I remembered something." What in the hell did he think he was doing? "From when I was younger."

Luna frowned slightly, "Yes."

Harry's eyes zigzagged over the shelves, and his voice dropped to a whisper, "There were these plates that I broke when I was seven and my uncle got really mad."

She nodded, frown deepening.

_Stop it. Before it's too late, stop it. You'll regret this later._

The boy halted abruptly, remembering what he was doing. "He grounded me and then he forgave me," his voice went raspy. "And then he gave me a big hug and told me to be careful because the glass could've cut me."

She didn't say anything, and seemed confused.

"And then nothing happened."

The girl was quiet and calculating for a long time. "He hit you, didn't he?"

_You can fix this, Harry, just say the right thing and she'll forget about it._

"No. He wouldn't do that," Harry denied, but his voice was so weak it was practically an admission.

Luna grasped at his arm, trying to comfort him, "How bad was it, Harry?"

"Very," he choked.

It felt like his brain was expanding and bashing against his skull in an attempt to escape.

Her lips thinned, "He shouldn't of hurt you like that."

"Okay."

She gave him a diminished, sad sort of smile, "Okay."


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: Minor swearing

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Why did he do that? Why?

What in Merlin's name was he thinking?

Questions like those bounced in Harry's head like screamed words echoed in an empty cathedral. And just as if he were hollering in a church, causing the stained glass windows to shatter, it felt like the sanctity and inviolable dignity of his secrets and had been irreparably broken. He was a waging a war with himself; bombing the Palatine Chapel of Charlemagne, blowing over the high tower of Salisbury Cathedral in a gust of strong wind, and stamping the broken shards of glass from the rose oculus in Chartres underneath his boots.

And he couldn't feel more okay with it. Well, sometimes okay. Other times, not so okay. Other times, clawing at his forehead with panicked breaths. Other times... he didn't want to mention. But okay- intact when he thought he would've caved it- and almost relieved because he had survived it when he truly hadn't expected himself to.

He had told Luna. Told her despite the way his gut wrenched if he even whispered it in an empty room. And somehow he was okay with it.

The secret wasn't so secret anymore.

The cathedral wasn't so beautiful anymore.

The worst wasn't so bad anymore.

But not the others, he can't tell the others, and he'd be damned if he confronted Snape. That would not be okay. He could not handle that. He could tell Luna but... not them. His throat might constrict so much that he'd choke, or his heart might pump so fast that his arteries would explode or...

Luna would be fine. She'd be the only one to know; well, besides Hermione. And Snape. Dumbledore. McGonagall.

Too many people. Ah well, the past's the past, and all he could do was move forward now and forget.

As far as he was concerned, nothing happened to him worth mentioning.

Harry stopped this train of thought when he felt a weight land on his shoulder and, without even looking, he immediately knew it was Fawkes. The bird had a familiarity about him- the way his talons grasped at his shoulder right when he landed, the way he leaned his weight towards the boy's neck, and how he was considerate about trying not to startle the boy.

He greeted the bird by brushing through his thick plumage, "Hey."

'_Hello, child.'_

He leaned forward, relishing in the warmth provided by the common room fire.

Fawkes nipped at strands of his hair, preening him, '_You should stop getting up at this time, it is unhealthy for a boy your age._'

It had become a common occurrence for Harry to get up in the middle of the night and sit by the fire, contemplative and much too awake.

He rubbed at his eyes, "Can't sleep."

The nuzzled closer to his neck, '_What is it that you are thinking of_?'

Harry grimaced in thought and Fawkes thought that, despite the roaring and bright fire, that he saw a shadow pass over his eyes. "I saw someone today- Luna, she's a fourth year- and I told her about my uncle."

Fawkes perked up.

"I don't know why I did it," he whispered nearly inaudibly.

The bird did something which sounded remarkably like a human sigh, '_And you were hoping I would know?_'

"Well... yeah. Maybe. I don't know." He ducked his head, face reddening, "You know everything."

'_Why do you think you did it?_'

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you..." the boy grumbled.

Fawkes continued to bite at the mop of hair on his head.

"I know far from everything," the bird trilled.

Harry nodded, realizing his eyes were glazing over when he saw the fire blur. He looked down towards his glamoured hands, clenching them when they twinged in slight pain. It had been a while since he had heavily used his magic and he knew he should start doing it again lest the pain grow worse, but he didn't know where he'd be able to practice it without being disturbed.

His hands never ached nearly as bad as they did before The Awakening since now the build up of magic was not so extreme, but he still occasionally felt the familiar ache... Luna said his magic was lonely... what did that even mean, anyways?

His eyes grew heavy and he resolved to find somewhere to safely channel his magic in the morning. Thank Merlin it was the weekend... Winter Break was coming up too.

He needed someway to drain his magic so his emotions wouldn't affect it... couldn't hurt Malfoy, no.

No matter how much of a rich prat he is... if he did then...

tired...

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He grumbled and frowned at the noise in his ears, shifting over on the uncomfortable surface he was on.

Thin little creatures whispered to each other in hushed tones, "Oh, it's him."

"Yes, yes, the Awakened One..."

"I knews this day would come, I just knews it!"

"What dids yous say happened- you came here to clean and..."

"And I just saws h-him here, sleeping!"

They jostled each others shoulders to get closer, little faces with wide eyes peeking up from the crowd.

Harry stiffened, opened his eyes and adjusted his glasses with an exasperated sigh.

Twenty, perhaps thirty, house elves had amassed in the common room. Their took one collective step backward when he stirred and sat up, their eyes glassed over in reverence and awe.

One jumped up from the crowd and spoke, "Yous, sirs, Wielder! Ohs we are so glads to m-meet yous!"

"Yes, yes, yes, we's been waiting for a longs time..."

The creatures broke up into groups and chattered with a buzz of noise.

"He surviveds it, yes he did, the stars will speaks of this for centuries to come..."

A small blue-tinted head made her way through the assembly, pushing to the front. She wrung her hands nervously, "Oh, can you be _my_ master, Master Wielder Sirs?"

A yellow ear perked at this and pushed the blue one back, "No, no, be _my_ master! I'm bunches better..."

"_My_ master! _My_ master!"

"No, he's _my_ master..."

"I'm so goods at, at, cookings, and cleanings, Sirs. Be _my_ master!"

The buzz grew to a dull roar and Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Please, stop..." he whispered lowly, "you have to be quiet..."

A bony hand grasped at his elbow, trying to get his attention, and then another one. He yanked his arms up and stood, "Quiet. Please, if someone hears you then..."

"_My_ master! _My_ master!"

"Master Harrys Sirs, what woulds you like? I's can do anything!"

"-I can prove myselfs to you, Masters Wielder Sirs!"

Harry squeaked when he felt something brush against his leg, and stared anxiously at the milling crowd.

Paranoid, the boy glanced towards the stairs leading to the dormitories. If anyone heard, he could be in deep trouble.

He jumped onto the couch when the house elves crowded over to him, riotous and possessive for even a scrap of his attention. Their bright eyes gleamed with ambition.

"Stop! Everyone _stop_!" he said in a louder whisper, irritation leaking into his voice. Immediately the large group halted and stared back up towards him, obedient and watchful.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, "You can't be here right now, someone might see you guys... and it'd be too suspicious."

Many of them hung their heads, "Masters sirs, we did not mean to make you..."

"Oh! How dares I do such a things! Not listenings to the Awakeneds One!"

"Quiet! Quiet!" the crowd hushed again, "It's not your fault, I just, it's dangerous for anyone to know about me and my, uh, powers. So don't go spreading it around, people are already suspicious of me."

There was a collective nod of heads. "Too dangerous. Too dangerous. Won't say a thing, Master."

"I don't... I don't want you to leave, but can you guys please go? No one can see you down here with me."

Without a word, the group popped away one by one, and left the common room. He plopped onto the common room couch and put his head into his hands. He prayed no one had heard that.

A small, crinkled hand brushed over his knee, and when he looked up he saw a wide-eyed Wrinkly staring up at him.

She wrung her other hand into the drapery hung over her like clothes, "Longs time no sees, Wielder."

He nodded, choosing not to reply.

"Truly, sirs, none of us had evers expected you to survives _the Awakening._ Its is rare," she said conspiratorially, "Rarer than rare."

The house elf seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

"I'm sures you must be stressed, sirs, but Mother Earth never would have chosen yous if she didn't think you couldn't handles it."

He nodded glumly, "I don't know what she expects me to do."

Wrinkly blinked and grinned somewhat darkly, pulling her almost too-small eyelids over the bright glassy bulbs in her sockets, "In time."

And just like that, she popped away, the weight of her hand on his knee disappearing completely. He didn't know what she meant by that, but then again he didn't know a lot of things.

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Draco poured over the books in his father's collection, rotating from one obscure tome to another, and cautiously turned pages of yellow aged parchment over.

"Hmm, the causalities of the mid-nineteenth century turning facilitated the diffusion of one Indo-European Magus to a..." words breathed through his lips as he skimmed the pages, eyes trying to find some missing trace.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not a even a mere footnote of _Old Magicks-_whatever that even meant. He pushed the book aside with purposeful carelessness, as if to berate for being so unhelpful.

He'd find it, no matter how long it took. No matter what methods needed to be used. He'd find what made Potter so _intoxicatingly_,_ inexplicably,_ _mind-numbingly_ powerful.

How could anyone miss it? That delicate aroma that wafted straight from his core... the way the power seemed to tease the very foundations Hogwarts was built on... the entrancing and playful way that it licked the air... and...

Draco stopped, shaking his head. Focus. Focus. Focus.

He will find the secret that made Potter, the most mediocre student in all of Europe, so... so... _not_ mediocre. So powerful.

_Be patient, Draco, you will figure this out in time_.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

Wooo... 40 chapters into it!

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Harry bit unenthusiastically into a piece of burnt toast only to plop it back down onto the plate. He added another smattering of creamy butter and steaming avocado, picking it back up again and grimacing at the odd combination of foods in his mouth.

It was a crisp Sunday morning and his magic was feeling unusually calm. A purple phoenix was perched atop his shoulder, towering above his head with a watchful gleam, and Harry had endearingly nicknamed her Dovetail. It was fitting, he supposed.

With the occasional nod of the head and a 'yeah' thrown in every once in a while, he found himself quite able to listen in to the students ramblings yet not be too involved with the discussions going on around him, and therefore he had almost missed it entirely when something jabbed into his back.

Shifting himself over, he blinked when his eyes traveled downwards only to stare at a particularly frightened looking Hufflepuff firstie. She was grasping a folded rectangle of parchment in her hands and crinkled the edges slightly with her sweaty fingers. "This is for you," she said in a vague rasp, eyes glancing over to look up at Dumbledore's currently empty chair.

He smiled plainly, "Thanks."

She glanced once up at the menacing bird on his shoulder and immediately had scuttled with hunched shoulders back to her seat on the other side of the room.

Fred clasped a large hand on his shoulder, peeking over at him with large quantities of mushed potatoes in his mouth, "Wud's dab for Habbry?"

"I dunno, I haven't read it yet," he answered, unfolding the letter. He frowned slightly when he looked at it.

_Harry, _

_Please meet me in my office right after you finish breakfast. _

_Dumbledore _

_P.S. Chocolate frogs are my favorite._

"Oh, in trouble, are we?" George guffawed, dropping his voice in a falsely eerie baritone.

The boy chuckled and dropped his half-finished toast onto the plate, milling in the direction of the large doors while he analyzed the loopy handwriting with a grimace. Not looking where he was going, he almost bumped into someone and stepped back, "Sorry."

The unidentified person brushed aside casually and he headed up to the man's office with 'Dovetail'.

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"I don't know what else to do," Snape retorted, digging his palm onto his aching forehead.

The Headmaster twirled his wand inbetween his thumb and his forefinger. "Surely tricking him to confront you is not the way to go; you may scare the boy off."

"There's nothing else I can do; he's ignored every attempt for me to contact him, skipped all of his detentions..."

"Why is he avoiding you so blatantly in the first place?" Dumbledore pocketed his wand and reached for a quill hesitantly.

The professor frowned, narrowing his eyes at the man, "I uncovered something particularly unfavorable about his relatives' care."

He dropped the quill, paling, "What was it?"

Snape wondered if he should tell the man, or let him discover the horrors of the human imagination. He knew it wouldn't be exactly fair to Potter... but...

"He slept in a cupboard." His face darkened, reminiscent of looming storm clouds, "_Those people_ kept him in a _cupboard._"

The man's calm veneer faltered and then dropped away like curtains pulling back to expose a red sky, it had looked as if he were aging in front of Snape's eyes. He grasped the quill, squeezed it so tight that it snapped, and one glass figurine on the left edge of his desk abruptly exploded into millions of little pieces. "They didn't. They couldn't have."

Snape sneered, "Trying to deny what you have subjected him to, are you? Trying to assuage your guilt?" the professor barked, "I assure you, they did. I saw it myself. I saw him looking out of the crack of that closet on Christmas day. Watching his loving 'family' open presents right before his eyes while he was stuck for hours, sometimes days, in a dark, damn cupboard."

The man didn't reply.

"You... you did this! All because you believed in a greater good, in some sort of... sort of... pseudo- protection. In the blood wards. But the blood wards sure as Hell don't solidify love. Or care." The man shook, clenching his fists, "An innocent boy was stuffed away in a cupboard because you believed you knew better than everyone else. Frankly, I'm surprised that he hasn't turned out to be the next Dark Lord."

Dumbledore nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

"So you better damn well write that note _now_ and call him up here, because we need to speak of this."

The man grabbed a new quill and piece of parchment.

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Harry felt a sickly foreboding feeling weigh in his gut. "Chocolate Frogs."

The gargoyle slid languidly to the right and he cautiously pushed open the door, going up a small staircase and knocking on the secondary door leading to the man's office.

Someone cleared their throat, "Come in."

The moment he stepped foot in the room, his pupils narrowed into slits and his face paled.

He stared unabashedly at the black-robed, dour figure in the room, before spinning on his heel and walking the other way. Before he could leave, the door slammed shut and trapped him in the room. "My boy, Severus would like to speak with you."

Dovetail squawked and reared her head forward in hostility. "There's nothing to say."

"You've been skipping detentions, Potter," Snape remained seated, giving him a caustic look.

Harry busied his hands by twisting on the knob when they began to shake, "Okay, I'll go to your stupid detentions. Just please, let me out."

The grandfather clock ticked with a steady metronome."It's not just about the detentions."

"Well, what then?" The boy retorted, a lingering dare in his tone, "Say it. Go ahead."

Snape sighed, "It's about the cupboard."

The ticking grew to an enormous roar in his ears, like little constant shock waves pounding into his skull and drowning out all the noises. His hands clenched tighter onto the doorknob and he threw a mutinous glare towards the man. "Don't..."

"I already know, my boy," the elder man chimed in.

Harry's voice shook, "Let me out of here."

"We need you to talk about it in a healthy way."

He dug his shoulder in the door, "Oh, really, that's all you want to hear?" he hissed, feeling an acrimonious venom cloud his head, "Okay, yeah, my uncle did put me in a cupboard. And he kept meals from me. And he beat me. Are we done? Can I go?"

Snape got up and approached him carefully with an extended hand, "No..."

"Stay away! Don't touch me!" the boy screeched, huddling himself as close to the door as he could possibly get, "Please, unlock the door._ Please_."

The professor faltered and took a step back with an oddly sad expression, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Harry felt a pang of guilt and shifted himself forward, "I know you aren't."

The man nodded.

"You had no right to tell him," he said in a a hushed voice, jabbing a discreet thumb over towards the Headmaster.

"This was my last option, you were ignoring me and forced my hand," Snape replied, "Why did you let it go on like this?"

A swell of red rushed to his face, "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. It means nothing."

"It means everything."

Harry glanced back towards the firm and unmovable doorknob, "Can you unlock the door?"

"Can you promise to tell us about it?"

"Only if you unlock the door."

"Only if you tell us about it."

The boy sighed and looked up towards Dovetail and, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Do you think it'd be okay?"

She nuzzled closer to him, '_Yes._'

"Okay. I'll talk about it."

He forcibly unclenched his aching hands from the doorknob and gave it one longing glance before plopping into a seat before the Headmaster's desk.

Dumbledore took care to enunciate an incantation and remain quiet as the door unlatched itself, to prove that it was unlocked.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Snape take the seat adjacent to him. "How often were you put in the cupboard?"

He glanced back towards the door again, frowning, as if to assure himself that it was still there. "Only to sleep, and if I did something wrong."

The metronome calmed to a slow and dull tick once again, becoming a steady and constant companion to keep him grounded.

"You _slept_ in there?" The Headmaster interjected, paling.

"Well, duh," Harry rolled his eyes defiantly to mask his embarrassment, "But then when I turned eleven, they moved me into Dudley's second bedroom because they thought wizards were watching them."

Harry tensed when he heard the professor growl, "There was a _second bedroom_ and they kept you in a cupboard?"

"Well, I mean, they actually loved Dudley, and he had a lot of toys..." he trailed off when he caught a glance of the man's darkening expression, "Anyways, where else would they've put me?"

Dovetail tugged harshly on his hair with her beak, making him flinch.

"You're truly justifying their actions?"

The boy sobered, "No, not justifying exactly, but..." he paused, contemplative, "They aren't bad people, not necessarily, they just didn't understand how to cope with a monkey wrench thrown into their lives."

He could practically hear irritation bubbling in Snape's head. Dovetail tugged once again on his hair to make his scalp ache. "You aren't a monkey wrench and, furthermore, no one deserves to be treated that way under any circumstances."

"They were a normal family with a normal son, and normal jobs, in a normal neighborhood, and then..." Harry hesitated, "and then there's me."

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape said anything, waiting for him to elaborate with fists clenched tightly in barely restrained anger.

"Maybe they shouldn't of, I don't know, hit me so hard or whatever, but they were forced to take me in and feed me sometimes. And clothe me, too," the boy looked wayward, "They didn't love me or know me, or even like magic, and I kept messing up and getting in the way of their perfect family because I'm a frea..."

Snape exhaled harshly.

"I'm not like them, I mean."

Harry was aware that the man's shoulders were tensing when he heard the slight ruffle of robes in his ears and, when he looked up towards the Headmaster, he once again shied away from the semi-horrified expression on his face.

The boy felt like maybe he should've been tearing up in sadness, or in abject embarrassment, but he felt an indescribable sensation of rawness. He was worn out and stretched thin like a square of butter too small and frozen to completely cover a biscuit.

Sometimes it was like everything was close, but sometimes it was as if everything was so far away. He felt like he was an unbridgeable away from everything around him. Stressed. Burnt out. Apathetic. Raw. Whatever those things meant.

He threw a look back to the door, pursing his lips at the continuing silence. "Can I go now?"

"You may," the professor conceded and, just as he was jumping up and scrambling to the door, the man added, "_But_ you have another week of detentions for skipping your detentions, and three more days on top of that for almost calling yourself a particularly unsavory name."

"What? When did I..." he stopped, remembering that he had almost said freak, and realized that it was useless to argue unless he wanted more detentions. "Fine, 7:00, right?"

"Yes."

He scrambled once again out of the door with Dovetail in tow, bowing his head forward and taking a deep breathe. Maybe the panic hadn't sunk in yet. It should've sunk in a long while ago-

Luna,

Draco,

Snape...

...Dumbledore...

hands...

Damn it. Damn it all.

He dug his palms into his sockets and bowed lower to the floor, sidling into an empty corridor and taking a long, crisp breathe of the gritty castle air. It was as if the metronome had swelled to a crescendo to chip away at his skull and sink itself into his brain. His head ached abominably.

But... this time, something was different about his headache. This time, his head ached with from a place he had almost forgotten in all the chaos.

This time his scar was tingling back to life.

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ohohoho semi-cliffhanger, maybe?


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

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Ignore it: that was his absolute first and most instinctual reaction. And his second, more thought out, reaction? The exact opposite.

He couldn't ignore it, he knew, for that would equal a combination of stupidity and wild irresponsibility.

The boy lifted a hesitant hand up towards his scar, brushing his fingers over it slightly and pulling back when it stung in response. He winced, his ashen face taking on an even more barren and blank look. "Go get Fawkes."

Dovetail nodded and immediately flew off, the desolation of his tone told her that this was of utmost importance.

The boy slid down the wall with weak knees; his skeleton felt all too airy and light and delicate. Like his ribs wouldn't able to protect his heart from a fist. And his legs would've broken had he stood on them much longer. And his spine was a shear curtain that ruffled in the wind.

He stared blankly ahead, eyes fixating randomly on the frame of a portrait at the wall opposite of him, until he felt the characteristic weight on his shoulder.

His fingers desperately grasped the bird's plumage in an attempt to tell himself that it existed, that Fawkes was there, and that he'd fix everything.

'_Child, are you okay? What has happened?'_ There was an urgency in the phoenix's voice.

"My scar. It hurts." His vocal cords were as weak as his bones, and he couldn't bring himself to say much more than that.

Fawkes was quiet for a long time, or what seemed like a long time, '_You are certain of this?_'

He felt the thick sludge of oxygen pour down his throat and slop grossly into his lungs, it was neither invigorating nor refreshing. "What does it mean? It-it hasn't hurt since before my hands...since before my magic..."

Saying it aloud made it become a firm, tangible thing in his head, and he gasped in air to get the sickening sludge out from his lungs but each breath was more disgusting and more black than the other. It was gooey and condensed on the walls of his throat- choking him, making him long for more air, making him desperate. He couldn't breathe. He wouldn't ever breathe again. Air. Air. Air.

He was drowning, and the lake was there again but this time it was a different kind of a blackness all around him. A blackness more deep and so much more real. And Cedric was there, with the last bit of light fading from his pupils, someones dead son- and it was like the boy's body was filling up with that blackness, but not a blankness, like once his soul had fled his corpse it was swallowing Harry up in it... "Something's in my head! Something's in my head, I can feel it- it's- it's... attached.. it's..."

'_Harry, child, you need to relax_!'

A voice, but it was mere white noise- or was it black noise now?

A song spilled forth from Fawkes' throat, sending little rose buds of light and calm straight into vision and guiding his mind back to reality. He was okay. He was fine. No black. White, white, white, light.

His soul sang back and the sludge wasn't so much sludge. "Sorry."

The song slowed into a halt, and when his vision returned to him fully, he saw that a mass of phoenixes were all cuddling into his sides with a desperation as if trying to comfort him. He weakly brushed through their feathers, assuring them that he was here- that he returned from where ever he just was.

'_Breathe, breathe..._'

He reached up for his scar, lightly tapping it, and retracted with another wince. He felt so weak...

"What's in there... what's..."

Fawkes pulled a wing over him, blocking out all other noises. '_Let's not speak of it now, you are too frightened, you need rest._'

And so, with him being mostly unaware of it, he was guided back into the empty common room and plopped into his bed while the phoenixes still gathered around him. He fell into a different type of blackness right when his head hit the pillow.

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The phoenixes were silent for a long time, every once in a while there would be a ruffle of feathers as they would dig themselves even closer to the boy.

A pattern of silence, feathers, and silence emerged until Dovetail gathered the courage to speak, '_What is it that has occurred, Fawkes?_'

'_His curse scar is in pain, this is bad news,'_ the bird replied simply, a level of stress saturating his voice.

All at once, a dozen heads peeked up at Fawkes, '_What!', 'Preposterous!', 'That cannot be possible...!_'

Fawkes asserted dominance with a flap of the wings, '_Shush, you may wake the boy. He needs rest for what is to come, I have reason to believe that a piece of Voldemort's soul is still attached to the child.'_

Dovetail pressed onward, '_But shouldn't have anything parasitic been destroyed on the night of The Awakening? The rush of Old Magicks would've been enough to completely eradicate...'_

'_It must have been so deeply entrenched in his being for so long- since infancy, mind you- that the Magic of Soul has not recognized it as something other than the boy's own being or was cautious to strip it away before he was strong enough._' The bird nuzzled into Harry's arm, looking at his unperturbed yet pale face. '_The magic was enough to stop the boy from experiencing any pain as a result of the curse scar, yet since it hurts now... that must be a sign that the Old Magicks have located the parasitic soul scrap and is in the process of eradicating it.'_

A light blue phoenix peered at Fawkes intently, worry straining his voice, '_And that is surely a good thing right, that Mother Earth is getting rid of it? The child will okay, yes?'_

'_I am sure that Mother Earth will succeed in Her mission but the exact methods of the soul piece's destruction will almost surely be painful for the child. We must be prepared for when that night arrives, we must be here, and we must have constant contact to strengthen him for the coming events._' Fawkes admitted, forming a vague plan in his mind, _'I will not let the child experience more pain than necessary because of carelessness; we must stay united and strong to help him._'

All of the phoenixes nodded and a light of purposefulness gleamed in their eyes.

A custard yellow phoenix spoke next, '_How much of this shall we inform him of?_'

'_It would be best if we do not give away too many details, but we should tell him that his scar is going to disappear over the next few months and that the Soul Magic is the cause,_' Fawkes answered.

One by one, their gazes all returned to Harry.

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A dementor loomed closer and closer, his hand trembled, staring up at the black pit of it's face- sucking him inward...

"Cast a Patronus, Harry!"

His hand dropped, wand rolling to floor...

A lovely red-haired woman was grasping onto the bars of a crib, she steadied her voice but her trembling frame and dark green eyes spoke volumes of how she actually felt.

She looked so thin and so old, so very much unlike the picture in the Mirror of a healthy, vibrant woman without shadows that periodically passed over her face. She was a mixture of organs and blood and flesh but it was like at any moment that would all fall apart... too tired to stay up, too tired to stay strong. She had been doing this a long time. All in love and bravery for a son too young and a husband too old.

"Stay safe, stay strong-", she sure didn't look strong.

A mobile hung still above his small head, unmoving. So still, so very still despite the storm which encroached on all sides of the valley, threatening to puncture the sky with booms of bloodcurdling noise and flashes of green lightning.

There was a pervading silence, a silence so thick and unshakable and worried and desperate that inanimate objects moved just to break the stillness.

A creak.

A snap.

"No, you can't have them-"

Something fell and hit the ground.

Footsteps.

The door exploded in a flurry of light.

"Mommy loves you, mommy loves you so much..."

Green light, this time. Greener than a spring pasture of grass arching their sinewy backs in a gust of wind. Green and red hair and blackness-

Bad green. Bad green. Coming towards him this time.

Impact-

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He awoke with a panicked gasp, writhing and causing the phoenixes piled on him like blankets to be shaken off in a rush of activity. His hands flew to his sweaty forehead, reaching for his scar, and he relished in the comforting thought that it didn't hurt so much anymore.

'_Calm yourself..._' A limey phoenix chirped, making his gulps of air slow down until he opened his eyes once again.

It was late afternoon, perhaps 4:00 or 5:00, just by looking at the sun out of his window. "My scar... it..."

'_We know, you needn't worry yourself_,' Dovetail interjected.

"What's happening to me?" His voice was a mere rasp, and he sat upward.

Fawkes took a position on his shoulder, '_The reason that your forehead is in pain is not Voldemort's doing, but because the Old Magicks is in the process getting rid of your curse scar.'_

Harry blinked, dumbfounded, "Getting rid of it?"

'_Precisely_.'

"But why? How?"

Fawkes nuzzled closer, '_Your core senses a darkness as apart of the curse scar and, being light, it aims to eradicate it since it has just now found out about it.'_

Harry nodded, feeling like that answer was not complete, but he didn't feel like pressing for information. "I'm so tired."

'_You need rest._'

"I just slept..."

'_Vast quantities of your magic and your energy are being sapped in the process of destroying the curse scar, you must rest. I will not take no for an answer.'_

He blinked, head feeling fuzzy. Was this a dream? "Okay..."

He flopped back onto the pillow, ignoring the sensation of dread and suspicion in his gut.

There was something that Fawkes wasn't telling him.


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

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After having an uneventful detention with Snape, the boy went back to his dormitory and plopped into his four poster bed sound asleep. Although, the next time Harry woke up, he was greeted with a blinding headache. It could only be compared to the sensation of having a spiked ball rolling around in his brain and making his forehead feel intense prickles. The brief and few reprieves he had been granted were always accompanied with a ripple of pain that made him feel like his skull was the scraggly rocks of an island being slowly eroded by swelling waves.

The boy crumbled back into the sheets, leaving the curtains partially open, "And for how long is this going to go on?"

Fawkes shifted uncomfortably on the headboard, looking down at Harry with a guilty sympathy, '_It will not always be this unpleasant, child..._'

"_How long_ is what I asked."

_'A few weeks at most...'_

He couldn't help the strangled yell that escaped his throat, "Weeks! It can't be weeks! I'm going to be like this, for, for, weeks?"

The outburst made a vicious echo of pain rebound in his skull, causing him to jolt upward and move to cradle his head before he caught a glimpse of Neville looking at him oddly.

He blinked twice, peering around, "Are you okay Harry?" the boy asked, twiddling with his necktie, "Who are you talking to?"

Harry glanced towards the collections of phoenixes at the foot of his bed, just barely concealed by the curtains on the four poster, "Myself, of course, isn't that normal?"

Neville chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head, "Are you sure you're fine? You seem a little..."

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect," He jumped to his feet, ignoring a bout of sudden dizziness, "Just tired, is all."

"If you say so..." The boy's anxious hand jumped from the back of his head to his earlobe, adding, "You should get ready, breakfast is almost over."

Harry nodded, waving an arm to Neville as if to say 'go ahead, I'll catch up', and quickly pulled on his clothing. The boy reluctantly left with a slight, unnoticed wave in the air.

Loosening his tie, Harry glanced at the flightly auburn phoenix before he landed on his shoulder, and rubbed at his eyes, "That was too close."

'_That boy is your friend, is he not? Why can't you tell him that you are able to speak with us?_'

Harry frowned, looking downward at the chilly stone floor while rubbing at his forehead, "He already thinks I'm crazy now, what with me 'talking to myself'; trust me, it'd just make things worse..."

If there was one thing he didn't need, it was complications. He had enough of them already and, if he could just push everything to the side lines for a while, then he could just get through this next month with a little bit less to worry about. Winter break was coming up too, so he could relax, right?

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The next week was a blur, only marked by the points in time when it felt as if frozen ice picks were being shoved right through his scar and into his brain. Most of the time the slow yet immemorable moments passed with only a dull pounding in his skull, receding at some points yet at other times shaking his head with the sheer intensity.

The worst part of it all was not the headaches but the way his energy sapped out like an old, dead tree oozing thick, maple syrupy, sweet and all too enticing promises of sleep. He often caught himself drifting into comfortable blankness, only to be jostled up by Ron or a disgruntled teacher whenever this happened.

He was tired. Very tired. Each day getting himself out of bed felt like scaling Mount Everest, and dropping back into bed at the earliest possible hour he could felt like dipping himself into a vat of honey and warmth.

He stilled in the shower for long periods of time because he felt so cold, like his blood was coagulating and gathering right in the base of his stomach because it was just as tired as him and was unwilling to gush to his extremities. It was like he was a dead body that somehow still moved only because it was forced to, each day he had to struggle against an inner rigor mortis that would gladly keep him pinned to a bed-or any flat surface, really- for the rest of eternity.

Harry shifted his pupils to keep his eyelids from fluttering shut, "Am I supposed to be this tired?"

'_As I have said, your magic is using every available resource of energy that it can find in order to get rid of your lingering curse scar,_' Fawkes answered impatiently, '_Now, I advise you to eat something, you surely wouldn't be so tired if you just pushed yourself to eat more during...'_

The boy glanced back towards the clock on the common room wall, almost tearing up when he realized it was only 5:00 and he still had detention with Snape. Darkness was pressing into his vision, causing him to shake his head, "I need a walk, something to clear my mind."

He jumped up, jostling his sleepy limbs into semi-wakefulness, before pulling on thick layers of scarves and robes and stepping out of the common room. Fawkes stayed firmly perched on his shoulder and eyed him intently.

He took a deep breath and trod down the castle steps, ignoring the paltry conversation buzzing in his ears. "Harry!"

The boy paused when he heard his name, thinking briefly that it was just his imagination until he saw in his peripheral vision an unfamiliar fourth year Ravenclaw, "Potter, you said you would help me with my transfiguration work this morning."

Harry leaned backward in surprise, "I did, really? I can't ever recall..."

"Yeah, well, you did." She tapped her left foot on the ground and gave him a stinging glare.

He chewed on the gums of his inner lip, "I'm sorry, I'm all out of sorts today...", trailing off when he didn't know what else he could say, "When did I saw I'd help you?"

Her eyes narrowed, "This morning, I said. Are you on firewhiskey or something?"

It felt like the marrow in his bones was turning to ice, making him shiver. Maybe a walk wouldn't be such a good idea, "I'm really very sorry, I don't know why I didn't remember."

The girl grumbled in irritation, glared once at the phoenix on his shoulder for good measure, and stormed off in the other direction.

Odd.

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Harry diced the last flobberworm with practiced ease and washed the questionable fluids from his arms with a mere grimace. The musky scent of mucus and some sort of embalming fluid had long since stopped making him gag, and he couldn't help but feel calmed by the repetitiveness of the action. Dice, slice, mash, cut...

He slapped the wet gloves off of his hands onto the table, "I'm finished."

Snape looked upwards at him with a dour expression, examining him without saying a word.

"May I be dismissed?"

The man leaned back in his chair, "Are you getting enough sleep?"

His ears itched for the third time, and he hesitantly scratched them when he realized he didn't have organ splattered gloves on anymore, "Well, not as much as I'd like..."

"Why?"

Harry sighed, thinking that he'd have to tell the man before he jumped to his own conclusions, "Don't freak out when I tell you, 'cause it's not a bad thing."

The man's eyes narrowed,"I will not, I assure you."

"Fawkes says that, well, my magic has sort of found the darkness in my scar or whatever and it's destroying it or something, so it's taking up a lot of my... of my..." he stopped.

Snape's face looked like old, watery oatmeal flecked with white flour.

"Is something wrong?" The boy unconsciously brushed his hair onto his scar when he caught the man's eyes pinned to them.

"Destroying it? You're sure?" His voice could be compared to oatmeal too- it was watery and seemed to waver in his ears.

"It'll be completely gone in a few weeks, I've heard." Why was it such a big deal? If anything, this was good.

It looked like the man was trying to gather himself back up into something more neutral, "You're dismissed."

"But..."

Snape glared at him and stood, "Leave."

Harry felt too tired to protest despite the swell of indignation in his gut, and left without another word.

It wasn't just Fawkes keeping something from him anymore.

Odd. Very odd.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this  
Warnings: minor swearing

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Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Not just impossible, but entirely unimaginable.

Snape scarcely realized the door had slammed shut when all he could hear was the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Impossible. No way.

That curse scar was permanent. It could not just be erased. Destroyed. "Not there anymore".

Permanent. Permanent. Permanent. Until the day that the boy died. Was prophesized to die. Supposed to die. Or maybe more like, _hypothesized_ to die. Just maybe, if he wished hard enough.

"Erase it".

Could that be true? Was it possible that he was to live; that he could live?

No, the man mustn't get his hopes up. That would be foolishness.

Yet... if it's true, if that thing inside of him is being erased, then what does it mean for the boy? It's been attached to him for so long, to his very soul, that surely the methods of destruction would be invasive and risky.

Although, saying that it is destroyed with no injurious effect on the boy, then he would live. The boy would live.

The professor felt something expand inside of his chest like a balloon, the sensation unfamiliar and painful yet welcome. It almost made him want to smile, of all things.

He could live, it was possible. It was entirely possible- the boy would live, and he wouldn't die for a long long time.

No. Stop. No.

He took a deep breath, regaining control of his mind.

No, there's no possible way. A curse scar is a curse scar, it cannot just be destroyed no matter how powerful the magic.

That boy, Lily's son, was going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do about.

He'd die awfully too soon, awfully too young, and the devastation he'd leave in his wake would scald everyone he'd leave behind. That was final.

The sound of blood in his head quieted, leaving him feeling all too alone.

Hope wouldn't fix anything, he realized, and he'd of rather had the blood rushing in his ears to drown out the thought.

Grabbing a shaky handful of floo powder, he chucked it in the fire and stepped in.

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Harry left and quickened his pace up the castle, futilely trying to push what had happened out of the forefront of his mind.

He may have been tired, sure, but there was no way to miss the abrupt change in the man. The way his face paled, how every muscle in his jaw and neck and arms tensed, how his eyes darkened to sullen black pits...

Feeling a mixture of apprehension and of weariness, the boy thought about why he had left without another word of protest. He was curious, like a starving man watching juicy chicken being roasted on a spit, but he was equally afraid. If something could effect Snape that much then it must be bad news and he was much too tired to deal with it.

Maybe after a night of rest and ignorance, he could face it in the morning.

He gingerly felt his forehead; it was about the scar, he knew. Something about the scar.

If only he weren't so tired and if only his head didn't ache so much...

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Dumbledore let his half moon glasses slide down the surface of his nose, and his normally airy voice dropped to a desolate baritone, "You are absolutely positive that this is what the boy said?"

"Entirely," the man put his arms arms behind his back and stood rigidly, "sir."

"You know as well as I do that such a thing is impossible, Severus," the Headmaster leaned forward from his seat, "There is no way that boy is going to survive."

The fireplace roared viciously in response, crackling and sending flickering light cascading down the walls, "Potter mentioned that your _former_ phoenix had warned him of this."

Dumbledore went pale, "How much, how much did the boy tell you he knew?"

Snape narrowed his eyes yet kept his composure, "He only vaguely mentioned the possible destruction of his scar, he didn't seem to know about..."

"Good," the man settled back into his desk, "That is all I care to hear about this."

The professor loomed closer to the man's desk, leaning over and dropping both of his hands on its wooden surface, "You are not to interfere, Albus," his voice was a chilling whisper, "Do you understand?"

The man remained quiet under the professor's intense gaze.

"I graced you with this information for my own purposes, but you are not to meddle in that boy's affairs," Snape informed with a vague threat lingering in his tone, "You stay away or I will easily do everything in my power to ruin you."

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Fawkes watched December drip by like melting wax from a candle, feeling both his own apprehension and the child's suspicion swell and smother the flame above them. There was a competition for whichever tension would become more dominant, his own or the boy's, and the bird knew he was winning.

He couldn't help the perpetual worry he felt towards the boy rise as doughy bread did in an oven, and the bird could only chide himself when he felt that he was becoming too attached.

The boy would need all the help he could get and while the phoenix knew that the _Old Magicks_ would certainly prevail over the parasitic soul fragment, he was equally cognizant of the fact that this was not the only hardship the poor child would face.

Highs of a dawning power were always met with the lows of that same power and the bird truly could not guess what Mother Earth had in store for the boy.

He could only hope that it was good yet, either way, they'd face it together.

"What are you thinking about, Fawkes?" Harry brushed his hand through the bird's plumage, peering at the oddly grim expression on his face.

The bird peeked down at him, '_I'm thinking it would be best for you to stay in the castle during the break._'

"Why, though? I feel fine, my headache is gone right now!"

Fawkes nuzzled closer to his neck and ignored the irritation seeping into the boy's voice, '_This is a sign, the time for your curse scar's destruction is under way and your magic is resting before the final event.'_

Harry only nodded dismissively, "I can't turn back now, everyone's leaving the castle tomorrow, and I've already accepted..." he trailed off before picking his voice back up, "Please? I mean, they'll be pretty disappointed."

'_You'll worry them more by appearing irretrievable from sleep when it finally happens which, I assure you, will be over the break.'_

The boy dug his face into his knees when his eyes blurred in frustration. He really wanted to see Sirius and the Weasleys'. He didn't get to do anything anymore because of his stupid magic and stupid scar making a mess of his life.

If it weren't for his stupid magic then his trunk would've never left his cupboard, Uncle Vernon would've never got so mad, he would've never apparated to Hogwarts, Snape would've never found out about his relatives, and he would've never had to tell anybody anything.

He would've gotten to go to number twelve for Winter Break. He wouldn't have messed up so much, or made people worry so much, or shake his friendships at the very foundations... or... or...

The boy took a deep breath, holding his knees tighter still, and he felt a headache slap from the back of his skull into his head. It felt like a different ache though. A sad ache. A regretful ache. An enlightened ache.

He also would've never talked to Luna. Or Fawkes. Or everyone that was knew in his life. And Snape would've still hated him. On top of that, he'd of had to go back to the Durselys' at the end of the year.

He owed both everything and nothing to his magic. With this thought ringing in his ears, the boy renewed the silencing charm over his bed, fell into the pillows, and slept.

At that moment, he was peaceful. At that moment, he was completely unaware that in a few short hours everything would change.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

Thanks everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, etc, etc, etc. You're all amazingly awesome people.

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Yellow flames peeked up from behind the coals and charred wood, wisps of ash and smoke trailing up and disappearing soon after they touched the frosty air. A poker goaded the remaining kindling into the dying flames and revived them temporarily. It didn't do much to warm the stone walls of the vast expanse of space, nor did it serve to light the forest greens and cool silver that bedecked the room, but Nagini had always enjoyed the sound of crackling. Mind you, she did prefer the sound of cracking human bones, but that of a fire was also pleasing to the ear.

Voldemort's cool fingers traveled over the expanse of her scales, watching the snake arch her back in response with a calculating grin. He was excited, overjoyed, perhaps, if such a thing were possible for him. It bubbled just underneath his skin and set his blood alight with purpose.

"It is nearly time I announce my presence to the world," he hissed, grin becoming simultaneously deeper and darker.

Nagini perked up her head in vague interest, "How so, master?"

"It is to my knowledge that a small town resides just past Hogwarts," the man hissed in response, fingers cradling the snake's head, "Hogsmeade."

The snake tilted her head in confusion.

"Many students visit this town during the weekends when they are allowed to do so," he chuckled lowly, "I know you've gone a long time without a treat, my dear."

Whether it was the flickering light from the fire that lit up Nagini's eyes or her own enthusiasm, Voldemort did not know, but he was pleased nonetheless, "When, master?"

"Patience," Voldemort hissed coolly, tightening his grip, "Not until all of the students return."

He stared back calmly into the dying flames, feeling his lips quirk once again with a vicious roll of pride in his stomach. What a wonderful evening.

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_The vision disappeared in a wisp of smoke, being forcibly vacuumed away from his mind._

_A whirl of green and silver and gray and yellow flame was replaced with something else-_

_He was floating in a sheath of darkness, writhing in an agony that he could not awake from._

_He was encased in dark. Dark. Dark. It clogged entered through even pore and clogged his heart, his lungs, fattened his blood stream and arteries with torture rather than food. Like he was tipping drunkenly over the event horizon of a black hole, feeling vacuous and stretched and dark. Dark. Dark. Dark._

_He was compressed yet apart. Concentrated yet diffused. Light and dark._

_"Mommy loves you, mommy loves you very much, Harry..."_

_Trapped in the glass, in a box, in a cupboard... in a fever, in a life, in everything he had not asked for but had always gotten..._

_Dark. Dark. Dark. The dark returned to swallow him up, large and greedy and laughing and real. It was consuming him whole. His head pounded at the swelling tsunami wave of dark and it ripped at him._

_Dinner plate. He was on a dinner plate. And the dark was going to eat him, or, no? No, he was in the hallway watching a dinner plate... dinner guests..._

_"And so then I said, Mr. Mason, you must be kidding about the increasing drill prices!" A large man- Vernon?- guffawed, stuffing his gut with cakes and pies and roast beef and a smattering of steaming brie on dry crackers. Hor d'oeuvres. Goat cheese. Milk. Coffee with a sprinkling of cinnamon. Clinking of cups and glass, and polite small talk-_

_His vision whirled again, shooting him back into the darkness; tacky wall paper and counters and greasy, fat fingers disappeared..._

_Blonde hair... blonde... "I'll expose you for what you are," a cocky tilt of the head, green and silver tie..._

_His head exploded like a balloon with too much air, splattering red..._

_Dark, again. Dark. Dark. Dark._

_"Stay safe, stay strong-"_

_Green light, again; green and a blinding pain to match._

_Green, dark._

_Green, white._

_White expanding over his vision, white like a fizzling firewhiskey, white like a rush of hospital walls staring you right in the face..._

_Something seared into his skin like someone branding a cow, his forehead was in white, hot pain. Funny, white but so black. Dark. Dark. Dark._

A voice, panic, "Oh my god! Someone, someone- get Madam Pomphrey, go get Dumbledore...!"

"There's so much blood..."

_"Mommy loves you, mommy loves you so very much..."_

"Harry! Harry!" Limp. Can't move. Never move.

_"Daddy loves you too, Harry, daddy loves you. Never forget."_

Dark. Dark. Dark.

"What happened?"

A voice, Irish, "I don't know what 'appened; I just saw 'im this way! I swear! Fer crying out loud, I didn't do anything! What's with all these birds?"-Seamus?

_No dark, no dark, just light-_

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His eyes opened and he choked on air, arms grabbing at his head with desperation. Faces peeked into his vision from above.

First, what was it, Madam Pomphrey? Mcgonagall? Then- Dumbledore. And Snape.

He tilted his limp head, staring over at a hysterical Hermione that grasped at red curtains with no abandon and Ron and Neville and... phoenixes cuddling into his sides... Fawkes, '_You are safe, child, you are going to be okay._'

"Harry, can you hear me? Do you know what I'm saying?"

The boy choked again, lifting up his weak arm from his pounding forehead and recoiling at the red dripping off of it. Blood. It was blood. "Voldemort..."

"Yes?" Snape leaned forward, a colorful array of potions tucked under his arms.

His head swam in an out, "He... there's going to, to, be an attack. On Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore stared down at him, and the man felt oddly distant.

His eyes closed for a minute or so and then there was a stinging pain on the side of his face, "Do not go to sleep yet, Potter, we are not done with you."

"It was a dream, nothing more, we mustn't regard it as reality," Dumbledore took a placating gesture at the protests, "the boy isn't lucid."

Harry felt a dim sensation of anger, "It's going to happen. It's real. I know..." he trailed off, vision swimming again, "I know it is. I can feel it. I saw it."

A wrinkly hand rested softly on his wrist, "Harry, my boy, it was only a dream."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed darker somehow, or maybe it was his imagination.

Pain flared in his forehead before he said anything and he shielded it with his hand, groaning, and patting gently. He pressed his hand harder on his forehead, searching with trembling fingers for it- for the scabby bump- for the rough slice that had always been there. His scar.

But nothing. It wasn't there, it was gone, "My scar..."

Snape appeared in his vision, propping him up and stuffing two or three potions down his throat before giving him a familiar pink concoction. Dreamless sleep.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fully closed was a scene he would never forget: the professor was glaring with such viciousness and distrust at the Headmaster and the elder man was looking back at him with such a steely blue glint, that Harry was assured of two things.

One, the two of them were enemies.

And two, Dumbledore was perhaps the most conniving, devious and manipulative man that Harry had ever...

His vision went fully black.

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The next time Harry awoke, it was to the sound of hushed argument and whispered, anxious questions. "He's going to be okay, right?"

Neville gulped the excess of saliva building up in his mouth, "It was so much blood..."

"What are you doing here?" Ron hissed something rudely.

"Quiet, Weasley. I'm your professor and I can easily make your life here utterly miserable."

He opened his eyes and squinted them, shying away at the bright light emanating from the windows. His whole body ached but, most of all, his head ached. He could barely remember a thing...

"Harry! Harry, you're awake!" Hermione grasped his arm in hers with a slow, tired grin. Her brows were knitted with tension and her eyes were looking raccoonish. "How are you feeling?"

Suddenly a mob of people rushed through the curtains and to his bedside. He must have been in the hospital wing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, it looked like, and a barking, chocolaty black dog.

Mrs. Weasley looked tired and teary-eyed too, "Oh! Deary, you're up, we were all very worried...", she threw a cool glance towards the dog, "Sirius too, of course."

Mr. Weasley put a gentle hand on her shoulder, "Now, come on, give him some room... I'm sure he knows were were worried."

Harry's head throbbed and he lifted his hand to feel his forehead, gulping at how oddly smooth it was, "What's... what's it look like? My scar?"

"It's gone!" Fred shouted in awe, coming out of nowhere, "Nothing's there anymore."

"Your scar has disappeared overnight, it seems," Snape informed in a waspish drawl.

Suddenly a memory whizzed to the front of his mind, making him contort in panic, "Voldemort... Hogsmeade, he's gonna attack Hogsmeade..."

"Oh now, deary, Dumbledore has assured us that it was just a dream," Mrs. Weasley cooed, "there's nothing to worry about."

"It's not a... it's real, it was so real," Harry griped, shaking his head manically, "Please, you gotta believe me..."

Madam Pomphrey pushed open the curtains, "Everybody leave, you're stressing out the patient!"

This was met with firm denials, but soon the group relented.

"Please... you have to listen to me, Voldemort is going to attack..." Harry's protestations were met with silence and he couldn't help but feel a mixture of dread and hopelessness in his gut.

"You need your rest," Pomphrey ordered, shutting the curtains around his bed and, with a flick of her wand, darkening the windows, "Sleep."

No one believed him, but it was real. He was sure it was.

Too vivid to not be real. If no one was going to do anything about it, then he was. He couldn't let people die.

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(A/N)

ohohohohoho, wowzerz. Two chapters in one day.


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

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Harry woke up from yet another nap to find himself surrounded by feathers of many different colors burrowed into his sides, and he slowly sat up.

He felt groggy, not so much the pressing tiredness that had plagued him for the last long while and his head felt almost fine. He could have smiled if it weren't for other pressing matters at hand, "Madam Pomphrey!"

The woman seemed to hear him from a mile away and bustled through thin white curtains, setting down a wooden crate at his bedside, "Yes? Do you need something?" she jumped to his side in an instant, "Do you feel ill? Feverish? Hungry?"

The boy shifted himself even further into the bed as she approached closer, "I need to see Dumbledore," he said, voice dropping to equal his feelings of grim seriousness, "It's urgent."

"You can't, not in your current state..." she began, grasping the covers and trying to press them into his side.

"I swear, it will only be for five minutes. Could you please just floo-call him?" he griped, "I wouldn't even get out of bed, really, I'll just panic more if he's not here."

She seemed to sigh internally before giving that characteristic drop of the shoulders which usually meant, '_I guess I'll let you out of the hospital wing, but if you feel unpleasant, then come straight back here_', or '_sure, I'll let you have that extra scoop of ice cream but you need some real nutrients._'

Her lips pursed into a tight line before she decided to speak, nostrils flaring, "Fine, five minutes."

She bustled off to what he assumed was the fireplace and even through the white curtain and without his glasses on, he could tell by the sudden burst of green light that she was doing what he asked.

Moments later, after some hushed speaking, Dumbledore swept out of the fireplace and next to his bedside. "Harry, my boy, I heard you wanted to talk?"

He nodded with a sharp jerk of the head, "It's about Voldemort."

The Headmaster sighed with an odd glint in his eyes, "I had thought we already discussed this."

"Voldemort is going to attack Hogsmeade," the boy shouted, gesturing vibrantly.

"No, it was merely a dream," the elder man patronized, patting the boy's head with a slight smile.

"He is, I swear it. I saw it and it was, it was more vivid than any 'dream' I've ever had- it was like, like, I was inside his head or something," the boy glanced over at the window in thought, "I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy. It's true."

"It is not real."

The boy felt like he wanted to implode and the sudden rush of anger made the window to the left of him start to crack underneath the strain of his swirling magic, "What would be the problem with sending somebody out to guard Hogsmeade? I heard he was going to attack it in January..."

"Harry, it was only a dream and nothing more," Dumbledore maintained.

"Do you really want to be so assured with your own idea that you could be letting innocent people die? Really? Is that what's happening right now?" his voice rose to a shout, and the row of windows behind him exploded completely- sending glass rocketing outside of the hospital wings.

Dumbledore stepped backward with an unnoticeable gasp, raising a prompt shield over the hospital wing, and almost choking at the thick, cottage- creamy magic saturating the air.

Harry could feel the glamours over his arms beginning to crack with the swell of magic that was rushing out of his palms, and took futile breaths to calm himself down, "If you don't do something then..."

"Out! Out!" Madam Pomphrey screeched, eyes widened at seeing the broken windows and lips pursing as she led Dumbledore out of the hospital wing and back towards the fire place, "You're stressing the patient."

The elder man gave him one more backward glance before throwing floo powder into the fire and whirling off back to his office. _This is an interesting development_, he realized. _All of that power the boy had displayed... maybe there is a chance despite the missing scar._

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"Hello," Luna chirped, adjusting her spectrespecs that tilted awkwardly on the bridge of her nose, "I'd like to see Albus."

If the gargoyle were capable, it would've blinked, "Password."

The girl furrowed her brows, "But I'd really like to get through, it's important."

"Password," the gargoyle demanded with more insistence, staying perhaps even more immobile and rigid if one cared to notice.

"You must feel lonely, what with everyone only ever giving you passwords," Luna seemed to shuffle away in a daze, before she carried her feet back to the gargoyle, "I can be your friend."

The gargoyle remained stoic, "Password."

She frowned softly and said nothing, tapping on her lower lip with a pointed index finger before petting the stone gargoyle, "Okay, may I knock on the door?"

The gargoyle said nothing and she leaned over to tap slightly on the wall, "Hello! Are you there?"

She stayed like that for five minutes, her actions ranging from knocking, to calling, and pacing, sitting and waiting.

Next thing she knew, the gargoyle was pushing aside and a sour looking Snape had pressed his way out of the office, "Lovegood, what do you want?"

"I need to see Albus," she said, smiling dreamily.

He lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, frowning at her blatant lack of formalities, "It is either sir or Headmaster."

She frowned, scratching at her head, "I need to see Albus."

He sighed through clenched teeth and waved an imperious arm towards the door, letting her in. She briefly patted the head of the gargoyle in a faintly loving way before stepping up the staircase and barging into the Headmaster's office.

"Albus," she said, making his head look up from a series of parchments scattered on his desk.

He smiled, scrunching his brows, "Ah, a Ravenclaw? Mrs. Lovegood? Professor Flitwick speaks about your academic prowess often."

She frowned and tapped on her lip again, milling around the office in near disinterest before she waved at the portraits of past Headmasters on the wall, "Hello! Who are you?"

The bored man in the portrait frowned rottenly, making a perpetual effort to seem displeased, "Headmaster Black."

Dumbledore leaned over his desk to stare at the wandering student, "Mrs. Lovegood? Did you want to see me?"

"He isn't very nice," she said, pointing rudely at the portrait.

The Headmaster chuckled heartily, "That's Phineas, he's never had the inclination towards kindness."

"Hi Finny, I'm Luna," she smiled dreamily, holding out her own hand towards the man, even though she knew there was no possible way for him to shake it. "If only you weren't surrounded by nargles..."

She walked to the other side of his office, avoiding the current Headmaster's eyes and attempts at conversation.

"Mrs. Lovegood, I'm very busy, do you have something to say?"

She nodded, giving him a tenuous look before breaking eye contact, "Yes."

The elder man blinked, running his hands through his beard nervously. _Nervously._ He wasn't a _nervous_ man, and yet, something about this student...

"May I ask what it is about?"

She nodded, "Yes."

He waited for a moment, thinking she was going to speak, "What is it about then?"

Luna leaned backward from where she stood and her gaze meandered slowly from the ceiling to the man's eyes, "You're a liar."

The elder man grasped the thick folds of parchment on his desk harshly and look utterly confused. "What..."

"That's all I wanted to say," she chirped, the soft frown on her face disappearing completely when her eyes left his.

She gave one all-encompassing wave to all the portraits in the room and headed for the door. She rested her hand on the doorknob and twisted, standing still, before allowing her eyes to travel back to his, "I know what you are doing and it's not good. I won't let you."

The old man blinked, sitting back in his desk when she immediately left the office.

That was _odd_.

Just what was that girl up to?

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It wasn't until the middle of the evening that Harry awoke, feeling someone's warm hand grasp his own. He paused before opening his eyes and tilted his head, startling when he saw Luna staring down at him.

Giving a harsh gasp, he shifted at the far edge of the bed, "Luna? What are you doing here?"

She smiled, yet it felt oddly serious, "Don't trust Dumbledore."

His mouth was filled with a thick, gooey concoction that he barely identified as his own saliva.

"Get well soon, Harry," her face abruptly became lighter and more playful.

She spun on her heel and walked out of the curtains around his bed, "Wait, Luna... stop..."

It was like she didn't hear him, and he lay trapped to the bed as she just walked away.

That was, well, _odd_, he supposed. Can't expect anything less from Luna.

Fawkes leaped onto his shoulder when he sat up and the phoenixes around him shifted in their sleep. "What was that about?"

_'I have a feeling that she is right, child,_' the bird answered with an air of premonition lingering in his voice.

The boy felt his insides ice over when he thought about what she had said: _Don't trust Dumbledore._

Just what was the Headmaster up to?

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(A/N)

Yay! I hope you liked the chapter and I'd be oh-so-happy if you reviewed, it's never too late.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

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The entire week that Harry had spent in the hospital wing dripped by like wax from an unlit candle in a warm room, it seemed to be slow and unsure of itself. No amount of encouragements made the days melt away faster than they were already going. Intolerable mornings were met with intolerable nights, blending into a mess of pooling liquid at the bottom of his brain which barely had the motivation to mark their passing.

The sun either sunk below the horizon or shot up into the sky above it, and the world would spin, and the candle would be a little more melted and he'd be that much closer to January. January... January... January. That was the month, that's what Voldemort said, and he couldn't help but feel a physical weight on his chest whenever that seemingly innocent word would pop into his head. It was strange how he could feel lurking terror and boredom at the same time; he hadn't know such contrary emotions could exist in mutuality.

He needed to be doing something. He needed to convince, or train, or ask for help, or tell the press, or... something. Anything other than this minutia of poking, prodding, diagnosis, soggy potions, and scratchy white sheets. He was stuck.

That said, it was with a nearly dopey grin that he left the hospital wing and went to the so called 'Grimmauld Place' for the remainder of winter break. At very least, he could feel horror in somewhere that was perhaps more pleasant.

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He was wrong. This place was not '_perhaps more pleasant_'.

He had never been here before and he hoped to never be here again.

While the walls were not that loathsome white, they were a more smoky and darker combination of what looked like peeling plaster and black soot. Cobwebs danced over the faded roselets that managed to peek up from the perpetual layers of dust on the wall paper and meandered upward to the string of portraits, sticky and gross. After reaching the portraits, the webs traveled to the ceiling yet rarely touched the timbered heights because they were so high up.

He supposed if one took the time to clean it wouldn't be such a dirty place but he was equally aware that, no matter how much he scrubbed, there would always be that dark-something. The dark that was woven into the foundations of the building, the dark that sprung up from the soil and embedded itself into the floorboards, the dark that seemed to breathe on his neck.

He shivered, feeling it trying to sink tendril like fingers into his skin, and his magic shifted uncomfortably in his core. He really, really didn't want to be here, and neither did his magic. It was a little bit like his scar, he supposed.

Fawkes squawked on his shoulder and he assumed that the bird was just as discomfited as he was.

Snape held him firmly by the arm, leading him from the narrow, old hallway into a sort of dining room, "_This_ is where the Order is?"

"Precisely," the man answered, a faint bubble of amusement hanging in his voice.

"Well, where is everyone?"

As soon as he had said that, the boy jumped when he heard the floorboards creak just above his head, the sound ran from his right ear out to his left as it looped and traveled down. He stood rigidly, finding himself unable to relax.

"Harry!" Suddenly four masses bashed into him on all sides, jostling Fawkes off of his shoulder, and making him startle even more if at all possible.

Fred clasped a large hand onto Ron, pulling him back and bringing making a silencing gesture, "We thought you'd never get outta there..."

George stepped through the open doorway with a hesitant glance thrown towards a curtained portrait on the other side of the room, before looking back at Harry, "Shoot, I was almost done planning your funeral."

"With all the trouble he gets himself in, I think you won't have to throw those plans away just yet," Hermione hissed, pulling back with a chilliness that rivaled the house's, "Honestly, Harry, the things you get yourself into..."

"It wasn't even my fault that time!" he retorted, voice rising.

Everyone stopped and stared at the curtained portrait, "Quiet! You might wake her up," George warned, jabbing a thumb over at the far wall.

"Whose 'her'?"

"Mrs. Black; she screams whenever we're too loud, so don't get her angry..." he coughed, "She says some pretty nasty things, too."

Harry stared blankly at the dark red curtains surrounding her, if he didn't know any better he would've said that the singular portrait was the only polished thing in the house. His magic growled, and if it took any sort of physical form, Harry would've immediately imagined it was a hostile cat raising all of the hairs on its arched back. It didn't like the portrait, not at all. It didn't like anything in this house.

He coughed, wanting to contort his spine into odd positions in order to get rid of the feeling he was having, "We're really spending another week here?"

"Yeah, cozy, innit?" George put an arm around his shoulder, chuckling.

The next thing he knew, something brushed up against his leg and he yelped, until he looked down and saw a familiar black dog. "Sirius!"

The animagus immediately transformed and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, "Don't worry me like that, you idiot."

Harry laughed, thinking that maybe the rest of winter break wouldn't be so bad.

"If James were still here, you wouldn't be able to sit for a month," Sirius said loudly, put a crushing hand on his neck as he hunched his shoulders in embarrassment.

The rest of the room erupted in purposely quiet laughter and he reddened, looking particularly Nevilleish, "Can I talk to you in the other room?"

"Sure, kiddo." The man smiled affably, and led Harry up a set of creaky, steep stairs that led to yet another dusty area.

He wiggled out of Sirius' grasp and plopped him into an old couch, promptly making a cloud of dust expel from the cushion.

The boy paced, fidgeting with the rough sleeves of his robe, "This is going to sound, well, crazy, to tell you the truth," Harry started, face darkening as he added, "Especially if Dumbledore has already talked to you."

"You can tell me anything."

The webs and darkness that dotted the room left his mind as a picture of yellow flames and green fabrics entered it, "When I was unconscious and my scar was being destroyed that night," he paused, wondering just how to phrase it, "Something happened; I saw something."

"Yes?" If Sirius were still a dog, his hackles would have risen to fine points.

"I saw Voldemort, it was like- like I was in his mind or something and..."

The man rose from his seat and clapped a hand onto Harry's shoulder, "Come on, now..."

"Not you too! Please, don't act like you know better than me because you weren't there! You didn't see-" he stopped, gulping feverishly, "Just, let me tell you about it before completely dismissing it!"

He nodded with a sheepish look.

Harry calmed down, feeling like there was a sling shot in his chest ready to shoot magic projectiles, "I was in Voldemort's mind. He was talking to this snake, Nagini, and said he was going to attack Hogsmeade in January," the boy said, "You don't understand how real it was- it has to do something with my scar- I was him."

"You weren't him! You could never be that monster," the man growled, crossing his arms.

"But..."

"No son of James could ever be him, and that's final."

The boy felt the slingshot in his chest tighten and pounded down the stairs, going back only in the dining area to grab his things and lug them up to the room he was supposed to share with Ron.

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Hermione frowned, looking at the figures stretching their necks like cranes to hear the argument better, "He's still going on about that dream, isn't he?"

Ron glanced at her and nodded with a furtive look, suddenly jumping back when he heard footsteps over his head and then bouncing down the stairs. Angry steps; he'd recognize them anywhere.

A very disgruntled looking Harry entered the room, grasped tightly onto his trunk and pulled it up the house.

The girl moved to follow him until George stepped in front of her, "Harry is a little grumpy..."

"He probably just needs his nap time," Fred added.

"Yeah, let's just leave him alone for now, right?"

Hermione nodded dismissively, keeping her ears cocked for another moment, "When do you think he'll get over it? I mean, honestly, seeing in Voldemort's head..." she paused with a lingering hesitance, "That's not possible."

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Harry gave one long, cool look at Fawkes and jolted the bird off of his shoulder, "Can I have a minute alone?"

'_Child, you mustn't-_'

He closed the door purposefully, waited to hear the familiar clink and rose a silencing charm over the room.

Sirius didn't believe him.

Sirius_ doesn't_ believe him.

Sirius chose Dumbledore over him.

Dumbledore.

Over his own godson. Over his best friend's son.

He took one calming breath when he felt his eyes glaze over, turning the black and white walls into a meaningless swirl of grey. If one squinted their eyes, or maybe just looked at it from an angle, they could possibly jump to the conclusion that the room used to be an okay place. But now everything was moth eaten and dusty and black and much, much too depressing.

It reminded him vaguely of being trapped in Dudley's second bedroom the summer after first year. While the walls may have been a murky yellow, and the floorboards weren't quite as creaky, and it wasn't quite so webbed, it was exactly the same as _this_ place.

He was trapped, trapped in his own mind and thoughts and feelings. Caged because no one believed him. Just like the Dursleys'; they never believed him either. He was always the one who tracked mud in the kitchen. He was always the one that broke the wing off of Dudley's remote control plane. He was always the one who stamped out the flowers in Aunt Petunia's garden and, and-

It was so much worse here. Much, much worse.

He felt like he was dry heaving, like he was trying to expel the words straight out of his gut but no one listened to what he was saying.

Hermione and Ron and George and Fred and Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore and, and, Sirius.

"Damn it," His voice was a choked weed, and he kicked the wall, longing to break something or to let his magic roam free and shatter the earth.

No one would believe him no matter what he said.

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The rest of the Winter Break was, needless to say, laced with a garland of tension. He was met with wary glances, friends' throats brimming with denials and questions they didn't have the will to speak and the patronizing lip of adults.

He couldn't help but feel more isolated and judged than ever and it was with an almost feral growl that he'd swipe his bangs viciously over his forehead when he'd caught everybody staring at it- the thing of their questions. And the thing of their denials.

Moments grew so heavy and overburdened, like a dying tree just barely supporting leaden ornaments and popcorn strings, that on occasion everyone would burst out laughing just to relieve it. Just to get rid of that heaviness, that clear separation. Sometimes, in those rare broken moments, it worked. Other times, it didn't.

As the days progressed and winded down, and everybody returned to their beds only to get up the next morning and repeat the one before it, Harry grew more aware. And more anxious. And those times he spent alone, with only himself and the starlight for company, panic so blind and pictures so vivid would make his heart stop.

It was one of these very nights that he had a realization, one unassuming yet nonetheless terribly grim night that would change everything.

He had startled awake with his back against the creaking bed springs and his eyes zipping straight to the wall above him. He couldn't remember his dream at all, but it made his heart race and his palms sweaty.

The air was ripened with a special something that night, he was sure. It tasted sharp and gritty and all too real; too 'there'. Too present, like a physical object. He quickly sat up, eyes roaming the room and landing on the doorknob that gleamed in his peripheral vision.

The detail wasn't all too important, but the angle the light hit it made it look that curious yellow color in Voldemort's fireplace. That same color which gleamed in Nagini's excited eyes. The color of dying, or of catastrophe.

He had to do something, he realized. He was going to do something.

He was going to stop Voldemort even if he had to stand alone when he did it.

He was born alone, and he'd face this man alone, because this was the same man that made him alone. That took his mother. His father. That might just take his friends if he didn't do something.

He'd even die alone if he had to.


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

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Harry grappled with his trunk and a heavy smile settled on his face like silt at the bottom of a lake when he saw Hogwarts again. It would've been a lie to claim that he wished he would've stayed at Grimmauld place longer, yet it would've also been equally deceitful to say that he wasn't dreading the rest of this month.

The cold nipped at his bare skin, Fawkes and the purple phoenix, Dovetail, nuzzling closer and closer to his neck with heavy wings pulled over their heads. It was an endearing sight, to say the least, yet he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice it.

"Harry, time to get a move on," Fred bumped into him, making him lurch forward slightly and move past the great doors.

That was the last thing he could recall clearly that night, and maybe only because the moment was so skin-bitingly cold; the rest of it seemed to pass in this blur of warmth and food and false comforts and thick, red blankets before he was finally granted sleep. It was all too peaceful, somehow, because everyone should've shared his worry. His fears. Everyone should've been somber, and speaking in low whispers as if afraid something would pop out. The students' moves should've been cautious and slow, guarded bodies ready to flip out their wands in a moments notice. The professors should've been tired and wary and, above all, not so at peace. Not so ignorant of what was to come.

But even Mrs. Norris' tail wasn't fluffed up in that perpetual agitation she was so fond of. Surely it should've been, at very least he should've had that small comfort.

It was January, after all.

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Harry chewed on the end of his quill, swiveling his head side to side in a fit of nervous energy, "There's one possible date that Voldemort could attack, which is about two weeks from Sunday- so the 18th."

Luna leaned in her seat, making the chair arch backward and distributing her weight in such a way as to balance it on its back two legs. Her eyes meandered slowly over the carefully arranged books perfectly aligned in the shelves, "I see."

He busily scratched something into the parchment, his strokes so harsh that it intermittently ripped through the thick paper, "Yes, so, I'm thinking that there needs to be some aurors watching out for anything suspicious. Now, I know the ministry doesn't like me a lot right now, but surely some employees should be on my side seeing as how..." he paused, eyes traveling upward from the paper to narrow when he looked at Luna.

His expression wilted, "This is serious Luna, really. You're the only one that trusts me right now."

The girl propelled her torso forward, making all the legs of the chair plant themselves firmly back into the carpet, and returning her to a normal seating position, "I thought I'd already given you all the advice you needed."

"You haven't said anything this whole..." the boy stopped, grimacing in a memory.

_Don't trust Dumbledore._

"What does that even have to do with this?"

"Silly," her face grew unusually tight, like she was trying to restrain herself somehow, "It has _everything_ to do with this."

Harry sighed and his plopped his head into his hands, pulling at his lower eyelids, "Sometimes you're much too cryptic..."

The girl leaned forward and patted his arm gently, hesitating for a moment before slinging an old bag over her shoulder and padding out of the library.

Harry sunk into the desk even further, as if he were trying to become apart of the wood itself, and he didn't look up for several minutes until he felt something heavy land on his shoulder.

A long, crane like neck extended until a head peeked curiously into his vision, '_Child, are you okay?_'

"I just need this month be over, is all," the boy griped, fingers resting themselves on the quill to his left, "After it's over, I can focus on other things..."

As the quiet moments passed, Harry's tension grew, and he marked off each passing second on the calendar in his head, imagining vividly red X's cutting through black squares.

One X.

Two X.

Three X.

Four X.

Five X.

Six...

Harry pushed himself up from the desk, feeling like he should be doing something. Fawkes jumping onto the chair he had been sitting in, "We have to get allies, that's the only way to win this thing..."

'_You mustn't stress yourself_,' the bird admonished. '_Are you speaking of the dream?'_

The boy took a breath of the gritty castle air, ignoring the bird,"I'm powerful, sure, but Voldemort's gonna bring Death Eaters or something..."

Immediately Fawkes pounced to his shoulder, making him wildly fling his arms in the air in surprise, '_You're not seriously considering confronting him, are you?_'

"I have to, I thought you would know this already," Harry hesitated, recoiling at the gleam in the bird's eyes before looking around to see if anyone else could hear him. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "I can't let innocent people die. That's not who I am."

'_I will not allow you to...'_

"Too bad, I'm fighting him," the boy said, crossing his arms which, in any other conversation, would've only looked childish, "And that's it."

Fawkes remained silent, '_You can't do this, you just can't. Mother Earth doesn't intend for you to put yourself in danger._'

"You either support me or you don't support me, and I could really use your help," he paused, staring unseeingly at the multitude of shelves, "There's nothing you can do to stop me."

'_I have my methods, I assure you..._'

"Then I'll go out of my way to never talk to you again," the boy retorted, his voice almost a hiss, "I don't care what it does to me, or how the bond affects me, but I can promise you that if you let me let people die then... then I can never make myself forgive you."

Fawkes said nothing, talons only slightly digging more harshly into Harry's shoulder.

During the long, tense moment where neither of them said anything, the sun was in such a low position in the sky, and pierced through the window in such a way, as to cast a faint yellow light on the boy. It clung onto his skin much the same way magnets would, and seemed to embed itself into him, caressing his arms and neck and melting his angular chin into something perhaps more soft, yet the wave of dim light only ever managed to glint in his impenetrable eyes. It reminded Fawkes of a yellow fire.

He was just a child. A scared child. And a child much too similar to a boy the bird once knew.

The yellow light swelled slightly yet, as the sun was smothered by the rolling hills in the distance like a meek spirit, and the wash of custard fire turned into brilliant reds and purples, it quickly dimmed and the visible glint left his eye.

His head dropped, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he took a shaking breath, "I didn't mean that, not really..."

"I need you Fawkes, I need you or I just might..." his throat was tight, choking the wobbling words frothing from his mouth, "I just- I won't be able to do it. Please say you'll help me."

'_You are much too tired to discuss this now, let's speak in the morning after you've had time to clear your head.'_

Harry shifted himself to look out the frosted library window, watching the darkness take over, "Okay."

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(a/n)

eep short chapter, I know. Sorry about that.


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing...

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The snow drifted in dainty tufts of white all around him, seeming peculiarly large and fluffy that night, and reminding him vaguely of wisps of cotton candy floating in the air. His breath spilled out in a cold plume of visible smoke; it curled around his face and dissipated as he quickened his pace through the forest, boots crunching into ivory terrain.

Maybe it was crazy to be out here at this time of night, but he'd been out here before, and there would be no opportune time to do it during the day without someone seeing him. Reassuring himself, the boy clutched more tightly onto the rectangle of parchment in his hands, trying to protect it from the snow, and glancing down at it every now and again as if it would escape. Surely he was doing the right thing, this was too important.

Maybe he should've at least told someone where he was going...

That would ruin the point, they'd never allow him to go, and he couldn't risk _not_ going.

"Hello?" he said in a low voice, causing another rush of smoke to swell and freeze in the frigid atmosphere, "I need to speak to the centaurs."

Harry lit another wandless _Lumos_ and watched the light penetrate through the thickening trees, stopping in his tracks to see if he could see anything. Anything that would help him, anyways.

He squinted, rubbing at his glasses with threadbare cotton gloves before perching them right back on the bridge of his nose. Nothing.

He'd been wandering through the forest for over half an hour, stopping every now and again to look around, yet his attempts were fruitless.

"Please, I need your help," Harry coughed, stopping momentarily. He couldn't reveal what he was about to say if there was anyone else in the forest besides the centaurs, "Look at the stars, Venus, whatever you look at, surely you know what's going to happen."

Nothing greeted him but the miserable cold and the soft rustling of pine.

"I can't let what's going to happen, happen," he took a quivering breath of air, cringing slightly at the feeling of ice crystals freezing his throat and lungs, "But I need help to stop it, and I can't do that without you."

Harry thought he heard something crunch in the snow. He glanced down at the parchment once more before greedily stuffing it into the pocket lining his robes.

"You know I'm the Wielder, correct? You know that- t-that Mother Earth has endowed me with these powers, correct?" the boy stammered, exhaling with a shiver as he pulled his hands over his arms, "It has to be for a reason. Maybe this- what's going to happen- is the reason."

The sound of silence.

"If you want to help me, then please, reveal yourselves," Harry hesitated, "If you don't want to help me, if you think it's stupid, or pointless, or you have family to protect, or, or- I won't judge you for it."

Another-something crunched in the snow, causing Harry to spin the opposite direction and watch as a hesitant group of centaurs stepped forward into the outpouring of light from his gloved hand. They were just as he remembered them- cautious and poised for action, their bows pulled so tightly that the wood could've snapped under the strain.

The boy said nothing, watching as one particularly well-muscled and larger centaur stepped forward from the rest of the pack. He knelt downward into the snow, bowing his head low to the ground.

"It's has been a long time since we have seen you, Wielder," His words came out in a large bubble of smoke that floated upward and disappeared in the cold, "We know of what you speak."

"Is it safe to say it out loud here?"

"Yes."

Harry allowed the glow of yellow emanating from his hand to expand even more outward, making his green eyes alight with the intensity of purpose, "Voldemort is going to attack Hogsmeade on the 18th," The boy grimaced, "And I need you to help me protect the people."

The crowd remained so still and quiet that they seemed to blend in with the great, tall trunks. Harry stilled to match them, his cool gloved hand tousling his own hair as he tilted to look up at the multitude of stars, and stared back down again.

"If you're looking for some great speech to rally the troops, or some sort of clear demand, or something I have to give you in return, I don't have it," Harry stopped, shuddering, "But I know what I saw, and I might be risking everything, but I'm asking for your help. I can't let people be massacred, and I'm going to do whatever I can to stop it even if you don't decide to help me."

The centaurs remained silent until one stepped forward, his face was young but sharp and distinctively rebellious, "Why should we help _Your Kind_? It was _Your Kind_ that forced us here, that stamped us out- that had the gal to label us creatures."

The centuar closest to him snapped his head upward, stamping indignant hooves on the ground, "Quiet!" he snarled, "You dare put the Wielder, the one Nature herself has chosen, in the same category of those people? Such is an insult beyond all insults!"

The sharp, young one stepped down, bowing his head in shame and leaning closer to the ground, "Forgive me."

The elder looked towards him searchingly, and it took Harry a moment to figure out that he was referring to the boy, "I forgive you. You did nothing wrong."

"What I'm asking of you is selfish, you have no reason to help us wizards," Harry huddled his arms closer to his torso as a large gust of wind skated across his back, "And you'd be risking a lot, too; you don't have to do anything for me."

Baffled glances and turns of the head passed through the group.

"But these people, these students, are not the ones that oppressed you; they're just kids, with families just like yourselves, and really they aren't that much different from you-"

There was an indignant gasp; Harry could sense the tightening of muscles and the pumping of angry veins.

"What I'm saying is that, that, Nature loves all of her children equally and she has put them here," the boy added, "It would sadden her to see them hurt."

"You know nothing of Mother Earth," Another wiry youth, indistinguishable from the last, spat with his upper lip curled in disgust.

Harry saw a rush of hot silver in his vision, the fragile glamours crumbling, and the bands on his arms burning holes right through his thick robes. They whipped bitterly with a swell of magic wanting to be released, and seemed so hot that the air steamed in contact with their acrimonious tails. Tufts of snow landed on his skin, melting and vaporizing immediately like water poured on a torrid skillet.

He almost shook in his wolf like aggression; feeling so angry and not very sure why, the boy felt his tongue move of its own accord- as if the bands on his arms were mere puppet strings that could take him over at any time, "It is you who knows nothing."

The centaur stumbled backward on its hind legs, kicking up snow and only stopping when he bumped into a thick pine tree behind him. The others bowed in either reverence or begrudging submission; the gleaming silver was enough to remind them all of the _Old Magicks_ that practically swished in his veins.

Another gust of wind hit his back, sending a frigid chill that spliced through his fogged head, and helped to renew his senses.

The group was silent and respectful.

Harry bit at his gums, "This is sudden, but I need to know where your loyalties lie," No one answered him. "I can come back at a later time..."

Just as he was about to plod back through the snow and to the castle, he heard the rustling of mane and crunch of the ground in his ears.

"Wielder, wait..." the centaur spoke, quiet yet firm.

Harry turned around, watching the leader centaur's head bow perhaps even lower to the snow.

"On the night of the Awakening, when you were endowed with Her power, we were forever allied with you," he said, "We shall protect you as you have protected us. It would be treason against all of existence itself if we did not help you in a time of need despite..." he trailed off, earthy eyes glinting in the moonlight as they traveled up towards the stars.

"Despite?"

"Despite what the stars may foretell."

Harry felt a chill entirely separate from the cold wrack through his body. The words- so dark, crisp and unsettling- made a nausea well up in his stomach like algae slowly expanding over a lake. He could do nothing but nod, clearing his throat and, without another word, make the trek back to the castle.

"Oh, and, Wielder?"

The boy neglected to turn around this time and just stopped.

"There are those among you that seek for your harm. Be wary."

He nodded, passing through the evergreens with a neutral expression that wore off with every step he took.


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: Minor swearing

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"Ah, Potter, it's been a while since we've had a nice chat," Dull gray eyes lit in amusement, expensive robes rustling as the other boy shifted his stance into one perhaps more arrogant, "Have you ever spoken to someone about your worrisome habit of sneaking away in the night?"

Harry shivered from the residual chill in his bones and took a warning step forward, "Get out of my way."

His magic swished like an immutable beast in his chest, the silver bands on his arms coiling and twisting right underneath the paper thin glamours he had just reapplied before he entered the castle.

The other boy let the mocking smile fall off his face like how a heavy gust of wind blows ashes off of a slate; he stepped forward, peering blatantly at the boy's bare arms, "That's interesting, _I can't imagine_ what must have ruined your robes like this..." his words wandered, quieting before resuming again, "You look as if you've been in a certain Forbidden forest _again_."

He stilled and Draco's eyes narrowed further.

"You smell like creatures. Savages."

Harry felt his arm twitch instinctively, "Oh sure," his eyes rolled, "And how would you know?"

"My father has trained me to recognize filth when I see it," Malfoy took a step closer, circling the boy like prey, "Just whom or, more exactly, _what_, were you with in that forest?"

"Has someone ever spoken to you about your worrisome habit of stalking me?"

"Oh _please,_ don't flatter yourself," Draco snorted, tilting his chin even more up in the air if at all possible, "I'm a prefect, you know, I'm supposed to monitoring for troublesome students-and have you honestly forgotten? You have something I want..."

He should get out of here. Soon.

The boy leaned forward, shoulders hunching in combined exhaustion and anger, "If you knew anything, you would know that I had nothing, and even if I did have it, I couldn't nor would I give it to you," he stopped, feeling his gut steam and his mind fog, "I'm tired, I'm going to bed, and you're not going to stop me."

Harry stepped easily past the other boy, taking slow steps up the main staircase, and tried to calm the billowing thunder clouds that gathered in his chest.

A hand dug roughly into his shoulder, "You're not going anywhere, Potter, not unless I say so-"

Startled, his elbow jolted backwards instinctively, arm lighting up like a magically charged battery that aimed to vaporize anything in its path, and struck Draco in the chest. The magic in his core roared, not able to be quelled, sending bursts of blinding white light shooting out of the bands on his arms and whizzing through the air like deadly projectiles.

All the white, needle-like projectiles in the air coalesced into one, sharp point, aiming for the target behind him that he could not see. He swiveled on his heel, turning to face the other boy, seeing a flash of fear past his rage filled haze.

For a moment he thought he was in the lake again- taking a breath only to see the white glass over his eyes and hitch onto the back of every molecule in his body, burning his lungs much like how the lake water did, but this time with immutable rage instead of hopeless terror. In that moment he wanted to explode, to destroy every atom of everything around him, lost in such haze of blindness that nothing remained in his mind.

Instead of water, he choked on oxygen, until he felt a pair of steady talons latch onto his shoulder- and then another pair, and another, dragging him back to reality. The steady arrow of light poised sharply in the air trembled, exhaling like a giant, sleeping beast, before dissipating and allowing a seamless fog to suck back through his arms and to his core. The white in his eyes washed away, a whirl of color- of gray stone, of olive carpet, of cold tile, and metal railing- seeped back into his vision, making him trip backwards onto the steps and blink.

Finally, Malfoy's face had expanded in his vision- first his nose, closed eyes, and down-turned mouth, then the apparent pallor of his skin, and then blonde hair pooling onto the floor like wilting weeds.

Harry gagged on his own saliva, sucking in an involuntary breath of air at seeing the other boy sprawled on the ground, unmoving.

The silver whips buzzed underneath his skin, hissing in rapidly diminishing ferocity.

Harry whimpered, "_Did I do that_?"

Fawkes nuzzled closer into the boy's neck, reassuring him, "It isn't your fault."

He didn't speak.

"It isn't your fault, do you hear me? Child?" The bird spoke, firm and unyielding on the point, "It isn't your fault."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Merlin's voice was a rasp, so very low, and yet trembling like a child's broken rattle, "_Did I do that?_"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

The boy grasped onto the metal railing as if it were a lifeline, knuckles turned white as he stepped off of the stairs plopped right next to the unconscious prefect, "He startled me, did you see? I couldn't- I couldn't control it."

Fawkes turned to peer at the child's impenetrable eyes.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

The man grasped limply at the fibers of the other's red-stained robes, "Fawkes, thou know'st that I wouldn't ever intentionally- I was startled."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"I killed him."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Merlin shuddered, "I killed him."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"He is still alive, child, merely unconscious," Fawkes corrected.

Harry's hands ghosted over Malfoy's wrist, feeling for a pulse, and he immediately let an exhale pour out from his lungs. It was a strong beat.

"He is uninjured," the bird said, examining the prefect, "He is only faint from the fear."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP HP

The elder man gagged, feeling the other's blood that had pooled around him soak through his trousers.

Lifeless yellow eyes stared up at him, unblinking and a containing a mere visage of the soul that had once been firmly present in them.

Fawkes dug his talons into the man's shoulder, trying to draw him out of his reverie, "It is not thine fault, dost thou hear?"

Incessant shivering.

"It is not thine fault."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"Wake up," Harry grasped onto the boy's shoulder, shaking, and watching the head loll the other direction before stopping.

Dull gray eyes lit up, alive, looking at the other boy before narrowing in disgust, "Potter?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"Wake," Merlin shook the figure, watching his head loll like a limp rag doll with a choked cry. "I beseech ye; wake, knave."

More liquid fire poured out of the of his head like a comical imitation of a cracked egg.

The eyes remained as lifeless as ever.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Immediately, Harry bolted up from the floor, sprinting up the staircase and into the direction of the common room.

The other birds trailed behind him.

Fawkes remained perched on his shoulder.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Fawkes remained perched on Merlin's shoulder.


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHPHPHPHPH PHP

Harry let his chest rise and fall, hand limply hanging off the side of the bed as if ready to catch the elusive early morning colors that streamed through the windows. The reds. Purples. Oranges. They were the same as always and yet he had never noticed them before. The boy shifted onto his side, extending his arm to watch the lights dance and pale, meandering to the crook of his elbow and enveloping his face.

The sun rose like a great beacon, the hesitant yellow sliver peeking over the hills and auspiciously blooming in the sky. Sweet red rose and peachy clouds wavered like frothy tides, rapidly losing colors, before they became mute gray specters enwreathing a full orb. The sun had found its spot. Where it was each morning. Where it absolutely had to be each morning.

It looked particularly dreadful that day.

Just like the summer sun. The same sun that sent one streaking, wide ray of light through his bedroom window in Privet Drive, always seeming undeterred by the broken black bars. Always forcing him off of the rough bed springs, always forcing him through a narrow hallway and down stairs- forcing him into the kitchen, forcing a list of chores into his calloused hands, forcing two rough-edged relatives up too early with grips perhaps too harsh and looks perhaps too scorched. Looks that reflected the hot anger of the sun, looks that could fry eggs on a cold skillet.

The same sun that beat down on him in the garden and even made the Begonias swelter. The same sun that made his windpipe swell, that made the humidity cling to his skin and forced him to take quick swigs of water too warm from the watering can.

The same sun that meant another day was passing, and another one coming, and that there were always more chores to be done.

It wasn't a Hogwarts sun by any means, it was a Privet Drive sun. A paisley-patterned, bleach-flavored, picket-fenced, colossal and unwavering _beast_.

A sun that was a just-before-the-storm sun.

A 17th of January sun.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Saturday is tomorrow. _

The fork wavered over the dish before slipping out of his grasp again and clattering to the ground, "Shit."

He grabbed it and sat back down, needlessly tugging on his tie and picking at his robes.

Neville tapped on his shoulder, face scrunched up, "You look a little out of sorts today, Harry."

"Yeah," the boy conceded, pretending to be interested in the conversation around him as his eyes glazed over in thought.

The Great Hall was fairly crowded today, students pooling in out of the doors like sea currents. They buzzed and laughed, tugging at each other, pointing out up towards the ceiling and whispering dirty jokes that shouldn't be said over plates of food. Fawkes was settled on his shoulder.

No backs a little too straight, no shoulders a little too tense or fists a little too clenched; no bowed heads or nervous restlessness that mimicked Harry's own. It seemed very, very wrong.

These were all his classmates, people he knew. People who'd be going to Hogsmeade on Saturday. Doubtless, most of them had parents who loved them and friends and good lives. Maybe some of them had pets- like how Hermione has Crookshanks. What'd happen to them if they died? Would they miss their owners? Would they be put up for adoption, or forgotten, or...

Ron elbowed him in the side, "Mate?"

Harry peered at the other boy, grimacing and pushing his plate away from him, "I'm feeling a little sick, I'm going to get a head start to Potions' class."

Immediately the boy left the stuffy room, traveling against the current of people milling through into the Great Hall and slipping past their notice. He stepped eagerly into an empty corridor, leaning over and putting his hands up to his knees with shut eyes and trembling breaths.

Fawkes did a fair impression of a human sigh, '_Child, please don't tell me that you're going to do what I think you're doing_,' the bird trilled with an air of desperation, '_Please._'

"We already talked about this," the boy said, "You know I have to."

His magic shivered at the words and, unable to be still, Harry slung the other strap of his bag over his shoulder and moved in the general direction of the dungeons.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was the singularly worst Potions class he had ever had in his history at Hogwarts. And _that_ was saying something.

Not only did he snap his favorite, most expensive quill, but in some ironic twist of fate he was partnered with Malfoy to invent an enhanced Calming Draught. Neither him nor the other boy were able to maintain eye contact once and, besides slapping his hand away once when he attempted to put a healthy handful of lacewing flies into the potion, Draco gave as little direct help as he could.

"This?" he said in a low voice.

"Yeah," A little nod of the head- well, not really a nod, more of a paranoid twitch.

"Now..."

"Newt's eyes," Malfoy informed.

"But..."

"Do what I say when I say it," he griped, glaring, before the anger melted off his face to be replaced with barely contained horror, "Please."

Harry stared at him, breathless, and could almost laugh if he wasn't so tense, "Right," the boy said, before adding in the lowest voice he could manage, "I'm sorry."

Malfoy looked up at him from the potion, blinking as if he had just been knocked in the head or his world view had just been irretrievably lost. He got the distinct feeling that Harry was talking about more than just the potion, "Okay."

"Okay."

It was in that moment that the two of them almost- _almost_- seemed like friends. But of course, pigs couldn't fly.

Needless to say, despite the potion they were making, the lesson was anything but calm and by the end of it he was left with two things:

One, more confusion.

Two, a neatly folded rectangle of parchment handed to him by Professor Snape.

_Potter,_

_I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning at precisely 5:00 am. If you do not comply, you should fully expect that your tenuously peaceful existence at Hogwarts will be thoroughly disrupted. _

_I will not hesitate to drag you from your dorm room if I have to, or where ever you decide to hide._

_Prof. Snape_

The rest of the day went much the same.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

The sun was half sunk below the hills, tired and meek as the clouds started to blanket the sky in a pale yellow.

Fawkes was nuzzled up to his neck, crooning over his head to pick at strands of the boy's hair with his beak.

Sitting in a niche, the boy's forehead rested against the glass, watching as his breath caked the window in a gray fog. "Hey Fawkes."

'_Yes?_'

Harry flexed his fingers, "Are you sure there's no one like me? That has my powers, I mean?"

'_I am certain of it,_' the bird trilled, '_Why do you ask such questions?'_

"Curiosity."

'_I once did know of someone with your powers,_' Fawkes admitted at the lingering tension in the boy's voice.

Harry never looked away from the glass, but he extended his neck, "What happened to him?"

The bird was quiet for a long while, watching the roll of smoke on the glass, '_He lived to be a very old, happy man._'

The boy didn't allow himself to believe differently.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Merlin's eyes drifted once again to the lake, watching the lull of soft tides swell up against the bank as he spindled the cane with long fingers.

'_Art thou serious?_' Fawkes extended his neck to watch the man's perplexing expression. '_Art thou serious when thou says Old Magicks should not have ever been granted to thee?'_

"It never ends well, do'st thou see, Old Bird?" his voice cracked and he shifted in restlessness, "Old Magicks is either a death sentence or a life sentence and, in my own case, it is both."

'_Why dost thou say such things..._'

"It has destroyed me, Fawkes," Merlin's weathered hands gripped the cane with startling force, "But not before it destroyed everything around me. Mother Earth is a vindictive harridan, choosing me for this insurmountable burden not out of some twisted guise of love, but out of..."

'_Silence!_' The bird's wings expanded, red and gold feathers bracing the old man against the wind, '_To speak of Her in such a way is...'_

"It is the truth," the man said, stamping the wooden cane onto the grass, "It is the truth."

The glint of gold on the lake disappeared and the sun finally gave up resistance to the night. Merlin tasted the promise of peace on his tongue.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

The glint of gold in Harry's eyes disappeared as the sun finally gave up resistance to the night, the fog on the window becoming such a constant that little drops condensed on the glass. Harry tasted the promise of chaos on his tongue.


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

(a/n)

Woo, chapter 51! I know it's short, and I'm sorry about that, but I would be oh-so pleased if you'd review.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Dumbledore eyed the empty wooden perch that still sat on the edge of his desk, coated with a light layer of dust from disuse, and watched as the sun beamed through the window behind his head in such a way that it hit the exact spot where it resided- making it glow a brilliant yellow, and curtaining it in a halo of orange, if only just for a moment while the sun set.

He stifled a frown at seeing the thing that always somehow managed to mosey in his peripheral vision whenever he was tired, or grim, or had a particularly difficult decision to make.

Although, it was only fitting that the bird's perch was so eye-catching this evening.

He was tired, of course, and certainly grim.

Dare he say afraid?

And he did have a difficult decision to make. Or, more exactly, to _watch_.

That's right- Dumbledore rubbed at his eyes behind his half moon spectacles, pushing them away from the bridge of his crooked nose, and let them clatter to the desk with an inaudible _clink- _watching was the only thing he had left to do now.

Watching and waiting and seeing and sighing, and saying, "It had to be done."

That's the only part he had in this.

No, not the only part he had in this, but nonetheless: It had to be done. It _has_ to be done.

He had merely set it up, yes, because that's the type of person he was. A chess master. A puppeteer. No regard for the little lives.

The man wrung his hands nervously into his robes, feeling some inexorable demon weighing on his chest- The Right Thing. He was doing The Right Thing. He was serving the Greater Good, and is there such a good greater than that?

Not that his old friend would agree with him.

He stood abruptly, hand wavering over the perch sitting on his desk for only a moment before knocking it off the edge. The ripe orange halo wavered and disappeared, the yellow beam instead hit the empty, dustless spot where it once had been, and the unbearable thing bashed onto the floor. He couldn't bare to look at it any more than he already had.

Oh, he knew Harry was telling the truth. Right from the moment he woke up, and those haunted green eyes stared up at him, head feverish, horror expanding in their depths like how formerly calm water ripples into concentric circles when hit with a pebble.

_The boy choked again, lifting up his weak arm from his pounding forehead and recoiling at the red dripping off of it. Blood. It was blood. "Voldemort..."_

_"Yes?" Snape leaned forward, a colorful array of potions tucked under his arms._

_"He... there's going to, to, be an attack. On Hogsmeade."_

He had known it to be true along and yet, he had turned everyone against the boy. Told everyone it had just been a dream. It had been easy, of course, what with his ready supply of power and influence but- but-

It was also perhaps the most difficult decision he'd ever had to make in his life.

Albus rubbed at his forehead, squeezing the bridge of his nose to get rid of an abominable headache.

He cared for Harry, not unlike Severus, and it had hurt him more than he'd like to admit when he had regrettably been informed of the boy's home life. Yet there are some things that absolutely must be done.

The Horcrux in the boy's scar had been utterly destroyed and now was the most opportune moment that he was to defeat Voldemort. No one and nothing could get in the way of the prophesy- when the time comes, it must be between only the Dark Lord and the boy. It would risk too much if the Order Members were there to protect him, or if his friends believed him, or, Merlin forbid, The Daily Prophet believed him.

...Oh and, that _power_, that power that Harry possesses- it wafts through the hallway like freshly baked cookies, tickling his nose as if he hasn't eaten in two weeks. It had come on quickly, one day it wasn't there and then, after a particularly cold winter evening, he had been awoken by the sweet scent emanating just east of him. To this day, he had no idea was caused it. The raw magical talent had come on abruptly, and could disappear just as abruptly if Albus wasn't careful and timely with his decisions. And he was sure that power was meant to destroy Voldemort for once and all.

Everything was falling into place, everything was going as planned-

His friends didn't believe him. Check.

The boy felt isolated as a result. Check.

His sense of duty motivates him to take action. Check.

Harry will defeat Voldemort and, if fate necessitates it, then the boy must perish as well. Uncheck.

And if students _die_ in the crossfire, _die_ because they had not been warned? What then?

The old man shuddered.

It still has to be done. Voldemort has to be defeated. In the long run, it will have been The Right Thing.

Dumbledore's eyes traveled to the bird perch he had knocked on the floor and he had knelt down to it. Grasping it in his wrinkled hands, the man thought about placing it on his desk again, but immediately as it had caught the last sliver of yellow light from the window, he felt it scorch his hands and light in flames as he dropped it again.

A brilliant orange fire crisped the wood, coming right from inside the perch itself, charring it into something unrecognizable.

How curious; even on Fawkes' Burning Day, the perch had never smoldered.

_Was it an omen?_

_Don't be silly, Albus._

Of course, that was all in the past. Now was the present and, if he did things right, a better future.

For the Greater Good.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," the man whispered to himself, jowls drooping, and examined the burns on his fingers. They were sure to blister.


	52. Chapter 52

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Potter,_

_I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning at precisely 5:00 am. If you do not comply, you should fully expect that your tenuously peaceful existence at Hogwarts will be thoroughly disrupted._

_I will not hesitate to drag you from your dorm room if I have to, or where ever you decide to hide._

_Prof. Snape_

Harry held the parchment inbetween his clammy fingers, trying to smooth out the creases it had from being shoved in his robe pockets, and proffered it to the air before timidly glancing back towards the heavy wooden door. It looked exactly the same, nothing had changed, and yet, it was so different from what he'd remembered it to be.

It had been a while since he'd been here, in the dungeons, waiting before that formidable black knob and wondering if he should turn it. The last time he had been here feeling this nervous was over the Summer, back then he had worried about his relatives and now...

No time to think about that. He sucked in a breath of humid dungeon air, remembering vaguely that it had always reminded him of the salt of the lake. There had always been a sort of heaviness to it, even now in the winter, as if all the oxygen was condensed into a thick, wet soup, but at the moment it felt so much heavier in his lungs. Felt heavier on his limbs. His heart. Like it was seeping into his brain. Like he was sinking.

Maybe he should turn back. If this went on too long, he might not have enough time to prepare. Sure, it was only 5:00 am but...

No, that wouldn't work. Snape would find him anyways and maybe it was a good thing to see the man that had helped him so much one last time.

_One last time_.

Harry choked, sputtering on his own saliva.

That sounded way too final. What was he thinking? It was like he was expecting to, to, die or something.

He hoped dearly that it was 'or something'.

Raising his arm, his clenched hand wavered before the mahogany surface, hesitating, before knocking quietly once.

"Enter," A low voice said immediately, lingering in his ears much like how the wet air lingered in his lungs.

The boy stepped in, rubbing away the last remnants of fitful sleep from his eyes, and drifted just barely in and out of the open doorway like water trying to swell over the meniscus line. "Sir?"

"Sit," Snape said, leaning back into his own seat and gesturing vaguely towards the hard, straight-backed chair that was on the direct opposite side of his desk.

Harry fidgeted with his robes, stifling a yawn, and curtly sat down, "Okay," he said, expecting some sort of prompt before adding, "What am I doing here?"

The professor flicked his wand towards the open door, slamming it shut, "You are not to go to Hogsmeade today."

His heart felt like it was tiptoeing on the edge of a steep precipice, ready to drop at any second, "What are you talking about?"

"I know what the Dark Lord is planning and, furthermore, I know what you are planning; I will not allow you to get yourself hurt," the man said, grimacing.

Harry mulled on this for a second, heaving his shoulders in exhaustion, "I have to go, sir. I have to."

"No."

"Yes!"

Snape stood, making his seat screech against the cold tile as it propelled itself backward, and his teeth gritted with much the same sound, "Potter, you will be _killed_ if you go out there, do you understand? Can you comprehend this novel idea in your exceedingly small brain?"

Harry took a step backward, putting himself behind his chair and grasping the bars of its back with his hands, "You think I don't know that?"

"It appears that you don't understand, then. This is not a child's game- this is the Dark Lord," the professor started, "This is not something for a kid..."

"I'm not a kid! I wasn't a kid the day I saw Cedric die," His hands clenched the wooden bars more tightly, "And you aren't my dad."

The professor huffed, shoulders tensing and lip curling, "I may not have any blood relation to you, Potter, but you are my student. For all intents and purposes, your well-being falls under my jurisdiction. My duty is to watch all of my students which, may I remind you, is not your duty- it is not your responsibility to save anyone, foolish child!"

Harry turned his head towards the rusticated stone walls.

"Are you even aware why it is that no one believes you about the Dark Lord's attack?"

The boy didn't say anything, choosing to shift his eyes towards the seat he was grasping.

"Dumbledore. It is Dumbledore."

Harry's heart jumped off of the precipice.

"That man is sending you to your death, Potter, knowing full well of your truthfulness."

"Why would he do that; what would he gain out of trying to kill me? If he knew I was telling the truth then..." The boy tried to quell his increasing trembles, breathing in the salty lake air.

"He is trying to lead you into a trap-"

"Stop it."

"...You are only a weapon to him!"

"Oh, so Dumbledore's the bad guy?" Harry tugged at his hair, seeming to curl into himself, "Where were you, then? Where were you all this that I needed you? How am I supposed to know that I'm not just an interference to you, that you're not lying to me?"

Snape didn't respond, nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, that's right!" The boy pointed an accusing finger, "You could just be a lousy death eater that doesn't want me to interfere with Voldemort's plans! That's why you're keeping me here!"

"I could punish you for that, brat," the man said coolly, stepping back in an attempt to distance himself from the comments, "But seeing as how you'll feel appropriately guilty for that later when I end up saving your worthless hide, I won't."

Harry's chest heaved, arms folded.

"You and I are going to stay in this room until I can say that you are free to go."

The boy sputtered, "You...!"

Suddenly the fireplace turned a brilliant, roaring green, sending neon light cascading throughout the room and shooting onto the walls. A floating head peeked out the flames, white beard and calm smile lightly caked with dust particles.

"Oh, Severus, is this a bad time?"

"Yes," the man gritted his teeth, "_Headmaster_."

"Now, now, no need to be..." the elder man stopped abruptly, blinking as the head swiveled towards the other boy, "Young Harry! What is it that you are doing here?"

The boy didn't say anything, eyes narrowing.

The head was joined with a neck, and later an arm, two arms, a leg, before the whole man popped out of the fire. He brushed at his colorful robes with a grin, "Never been much of a fan of floo-traveling, myself."

Harry looked down.

"Oh, yes!" Dumbledore said, grin broadening as he tapped at his lip, "Now that I remember it, when I was perusing through the list of scheduled detentions this early morning, I realized that young Harry's doesn't have a cause written next to it..."

Snape coughed into his arm, "Excuse me, Headmaster, I can't believe I had forgotten- the truth is, he was fooling around in Potions class with highly volatile substances which he had the gal to throw into Malfoy's cauldron."

"Now, now, Severus, I know you may dislike the boy because of his parentage, but this unfair punishment is against school policy unless, of course, young Harry is here of his own free will," he clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Are you, my boy?"

"_Think about what you are doing_," the professor mouthed.

Harry looked up, gaze sliding from Dumbledore to his professor and back.

The green light from the fire gradually dimmed, letting the grayness of the stones seep back into his vision.

Yet the light did not disappear fully and sent sparks and green ashes floating through the air. Perhaps just maybe, if the light had been brighter, and Dumbledore had been inched a little to the left of the fireplace, he would've seen the concern lining Snape's irises and the calculating look that abounded in the Headmaster's own.

And just maybe, just possibly, things would've been different.

But this was not so.

"No, I'm not, sir. Can I leave?"

Albus' smile grew just a fraction wider, "Yes, you may."

The boy let his shoulders drop and, giving a minute wave of the hand towards the professor, he left the room and padded out of the dungeons.

Snape threw a deeply unsettled glare at Dumbledore, "I know what you are doing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my boy." The elder man chirped affably, examining his hands.

"Look at me when I speak to you!" The professor tilted the edge of his desk upward, letting ink and parchment crash to the floor, before planting the desk back down to the tiled floor, "Don't play dumb with me, Albus, I am much too acquainted with your games! Think about what it is you are doing, what you are risking!"

"There are some things that must be done."

"You are a fool and, most of all, I am a fool, for allowing myself to think for even a second that you could ever change," Severus' voice dropped, "You are still Grindelwald's pet, aren't you?"

The headmaster cringed, smile faltering for only a second.

"Hit a sore spot, haven't I? Funny how the mere mention of a name can make you flinch while the sacrifice of an innocent boy doesn't," he spat, folding his arms into his sleeves, "You really are his pet."

Dumbledore frowned, "I told you that in confidence, it is not in good conscience to speak of it."

"If you think that I'm going to..."

"The boy has already made his choice, Severus," the elder man stressed, tenderly poking at the blisters that marred his fingers. "You are this close to being freed from Voldemort's clutches- _this close_; don't you desire that?"

The fire smoldered, sending loud crackles into the air.

"Not if it means Lily's son has to die!"

The headmaster remained quiet.

Snape breathed, lungs scorched with the intensity of his furor, "_I told you_; I told you, I wouldn't ever let you hurt him, and I damn well mean it."

"It has to be done," the elder man said, stepping into the doorway, "I hope that you understand this one day."


	53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing, etc.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The boy stepped through the portrait door, running his hands intermittently over the rough-hewn stone walls, and exhaling with great heaving breaths. Nausea gushed in the pit of his stomach, slickening his insides with barely contained dread that made his throat expand involuntary.

He was glad to be out of Slytherin territory; out of the dungeons. They were much too green, much too silver, just like... just like that vision. Just like the floo place. And the shadows that lined Dumbledore's wrinkled face. The green from an Avada Kedavra curse that struck Cedric like a bolt of lightning, wrenching the soul from the body, leaving the eyes a vat of lifeless gray tinged with _that green._

Yes, he'd be much happier with red and orange. A brilliant, glowing red that-that had no resemblance to blood whatsoever, student's blood... No, no, a good red, not a red that's too dark. And an auspicious orange, and orange one would associate with luck rather than with fire eating tiny local markets and book stores. Eating people.

A good, good, orange. A happy orange. The orange of a half-melted sherbet from Florean Fortescue's that maybe sat out in the sun just a little too long.

And a good, good, red. The red sparks that shot out of his wand the first time he held it, a warm red. Like flannel lining the inside of a wool jacket.

He paused, feeling like he was going to keel over if he thought too hard, and plopped onto the common room couch.

He shut his eyes, bowing his head low to where it almost touched his knees, and startled slightly when he felt a weight on his shoulder. "Fawkes?"

'_Child..._'

He leaned back, arching his neck over the back of the couch and keeping his eyes shut as Fawkes readjusted himself.

'_Has something happened?_'

Harry peeked one eye open, vision roaming over the expanse of ceiling that hung low over his head, "Is Dumbledore one of the good guys?"

'_He tries his best,_' the phoenix answered carefully, bowing his head, '_Yet you know full well I do not like that man._'

"Do you think that he'd..." the boy paused, mouth twitching, "He'd ever intentionally try and hurt me? Indirectly, maybe?"

'_If he thought it was for the best_,' the bird's plumage puffed into the air much like how a dog's hackles raise, '_That man would do anything, no matter the sacrifice_.'

His voice dropped to a whisper, "Am I going to die out there? Is he sending me out to die?"

Fawkes' talons gripped more harshly into his shoulder, _'Don't do this, child, please, don't go to Hogsmeade-_'

"We've talked about this," His tone was unsettled like the stirring of heavy silt yet was final like sedimentary rocks hardened over millions of years, "There are some things that have to be done."

The bird ruffled his feathers, '_Sometimes, you sound too much like him,' _he paused for a long moment, adding, '_What is it that you are planning?_'

"I can stay for breakfast to see my friends," said the boy, grimacing, "But right after I have to get going."

'_And at Hogsmeade?_'

"I don't know," he admitted, pushing at his forehead with his palms, "I don't even know if I'll be able to stop him, the goal's to get as many people away from Hogsmeade as possible."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"So everything is going to go as planned, right?" Harry leaned closer into the huddle, every now and again scanning over his shoulder suspiciously.

George and Fred simultaneously straightened up, saluting him, "Yessir."

The boy grappled with his robes, patting his left pocket, "And you're sure you can distract them so as few people as possible get on the train?"

Another salute, "Yessir."

"And you two_ really_ don't mind how much trouble you're going to get in?" The boy's stomach tightened; if they turned back now...

"Dear Harrison," began Fred, grinning lopsidedly.

"We've been wanting to get back at Umbridge for a long, long time..." the other twin proceeded.

"Besides, we've got a business to run!"

The boy let out a large sigh, trying to keep the tired look from his face, "Thanks, really, this means more than you'll ever know."

If he weren't so worn down, Harry could've sworn he saw the two exchange meaningful glances to each other- as if they were instantaneously having some sort of private and concerned conversation that he was barging in on.

"What sorts of devious things are you planning down at Hogsmeade yourself?" George clapped a large, burly hand on his shoulder, drawing him in.

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise," he smiled weakly, looking far more grim than falsely happy, "Now remember, see the sign, and you immediately start... don't hold back."

The two paused, both eyeing him for a moment, having similar expressions of lingering doubt. It was quiet and tense, and by the way that they looked at him, Harry was expecting that they were about to question him.

Fred opened his mouth, faltering slightly when his brother nudged him, and the two nodded towards each other again-making a silent agreement.

"Yessir!" they said in unison, allowing their excitement to reinvigorate the air and their doubts to dissipate.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The boy swallowed his meager helping of eggs convulsively when he saw Hermione scuttling into the Great Hall, juggling a large stack of books in her arms, with Ron following closely. He choked, spitting into his napkin.

He didn't feel much like eating anyways.

The girl plopped down next to him, immediately piling cucumber slices and steaming avacado onto his plate, "Not everything you eat should be treacle tarts, _honestly_."

Ron sat on parallel to him on the other side of the table- eyeing the girl's books with a grimace, "You're right, mom."

She jabbed him with an elbow into his side, ignoring him in favor of putting copious amounts of mashed potatoes onto her own plate.

Harry lifted the sleeve of his robe under the table; thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes until he had to go. Thirty minutes until the Great Hall might become just a memory. If even that.

He rested his arm on the edge of the table, feeling the smooth texture and following the stream of grain that ran down through the wood. The polish, once crisp and gleaming like laminated magazine pages, was dull in some places- the dark red veneer being chipped maybe by, oh, misplaced forks, or busy quills so tightly gripped that they sliced through parchment and dented its surface. From students in another time that had the luxury of worrying about passing transfiguration and getting their three foot essay about potion catalysts done before class started.

He wished he could have that sort of life.

Enough of that.

Hermione was chattering on about something or another, probably lecturing Ron about the Goblin Wars- not that he was listening.

And Ron was likely talking about the Chudley Cannons, or how unfair McGonagall was when grading his essay.

Neville? Something about herbology.

Giving the occassional nod, he was able to go though the motions yet...

A series of words transcended above the white noise in his ears: "We should get an early start- I wanna get to Honeydukes!"

"I can't believe you never got your slip signed until now, I could've taken you there so much earlier. Your first trip is gonna be one to remember forever."

Harry swiveled his head, vision resting on two Hufflepuffs, one older than the other, as they passed through the hall. The young one had a chubbier face with a small nose and tight lips while the older one had an angular, refined jaw that seemed so strong that it could jut out two miles yet still there was still a gentleness about him.

They were probably brothers.

He felt like he was wilting, like flowers that crisped and cracked all throughout Autumn yet absolutely refused to give up until Winter would eventually bury them.

He swallowed to relieve that terrifying tightness in his throat.

The boy patted his left pocket, inhaling, and glanced at his wrist.

Twenty minutes.

In his peripheral vision he was vaguely aware that Snape was watching him.

There was a tug on his shoulder, "Harry?"

"Huh?"

Neville blinked at him, "What're you thinking about?"

His saliva was especially thick this morning, like wet cake batter that slowly sapped from the mixing bowl into the pan; "Nothing."

Hermione leaned forward, eyes narrowed, "You're not still going on about that Hogsmeade thing, right?"

"No- I just had a bad sleep last night," he said, "And my herbology grade is in the toilet."

"_Okay_ then," the girl said curtly, returning to her plate with a cautious glance.

Harry patted his pocket again, sipping on a glass of pumpkin juice.

Orange. Good, good orange. This would be one thing to add to his list of good things that were orange. Not at all like the orange of a Reducto whizzing through the air, barreling through stone, causing screams to pierce his ears-

Enough of that.

_It's just the color orange, Harry. It's just orange._

He bit into a piece of crusty bread only to spit it back into his napkin.

There was a soft poke right in the middle of the boy's back, and he turned his head to face a calm Luna, "May I have your bread, Harry?"

He was almost too stunned to reply. Surely she must know what day it is.

"Sure," he proffered it to her, examining it, "It tastes a little odd though."

She took the seat next to him, ignoring his extended hand, "That's because it's leavened, I've never liked it myself. The yeast attracts too many wrackspurts."

Plucking a crisped cracker off from the palate in the center of the table, Luna broke it into half, handing him the other piece, "Eat."

Harry bit into it, chewing, and tensing at the oddly piercing expression that the girl had on her face.

As soon as he had finished it, Luna got up from her seat, "Where are you going?"

"I haven't finished my latest article," she paused, a dreamy half smile appearing on her face so gradually that it seemed to match the languidness of the rising sun, "Bye-bye, Harry."

He didn't reply, turning back to the table.

"Well, that was odd," Ron announced lowly, making Hermione stifle a chuckle.

Ten minutes.

The proverbial clock ticked in his head-

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

He remembered a joke about that once, Vernon had told it over breakfast and it had never really been that funny...

He couldn't remember how it went.

It's odd how things like that just seemed to disappear from him.

The boy glanced at his wrist. Five minutes.

And Hermione was still dicing her sweet potatoes.

Neville, well, he was being Neville.

Ron was grabbing yet another chicken leg.

Harry paled.

He didn't have much time.

Grasping onto Hermione's shoulder and drawing Ron and Neville inwards, he took a deep breath, "Listen closely, okay? Just let me talk for a minute."

The group nodded.

"You're all really important to me, you've all been there for me when I needed you most, and I just want you guys to know that..." he choked, waiting for the trembles in his voice to stop, "That what I'm about about to go, what's about to happen to me; you're not going to be very happy about it."

Hermione tensed, "Harry..."

"But just remember that it isn't your fault and I really care about all of you, and if you don't see me again, you'll miss me, and I'll miss you- wherever I'm at," he inhaled sharply, "And remember that you all have each other, and I want you to be happy."

The boy tried to stifle to welling in his eyes and the insatiable desire to stay. He looked up towards where the professors sat, catching Snape's eyes.

"_I'm sorry,_" he mouthed.

He reached into his pocket, keeping a death grip on the ashy black ball clasped inbetween his fingers, before abruptly stepping out of his seat.

Ron stood, making the table shake under him, "What are you-"

Raising the ball in his hands, he immediately sent the ash streaking and colliding onto the floor, causing a cloud of dark to immediately envelop the whole room.

Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

Harry ignored the confusion and yelps that filled the air; students shuffled around and almost bumped into him.

Just as he ducked out of the Great Hall, two figures raced through the air in brooms, entering like bats, and sending fireworks popping into the darkness. A flurry of red and orange and yellow curled, making some laugh, others cry, and leaving his line of sight as he streaked out of the Hall.

Out of one madness and into another.

One mere fireworks, the other lethal spells.


	54. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

He hovered in the air, gripping the broom with deathly force, narrowed eyes peering at the little ants bustling through crooked lines that were dotted with markets equally as small.

That's all they looked like from this height- ants. Tiny dots that sometimes meandered onto patches of green which managed to peek up from gray slush, pavement, or white snow; as a collective, these little dots would disappear or reappear with a pop out of tiny squares of color which he knew to the shops.

They were mindless wanderers from this height, or from any other height, really.

Mindless. Or, more exactly, unknowing.

The wind was still.

So very still; it was an especially uncommon occurrence in the Winter, when it was _supposed_ to be scraping at his back like millions of nails trying to entrench themselves into his skin. When it was _supposed_ to be burrowing ice crystals inbetween the gaps of his goosebumps. When it was _supposed _to make him shiver in the must unlikely of places like the rough skin on his elbows, the drafty area right underneath the tips of his fingernails, or perhaps around the funnels that lingered on the inner edges of his ears.

And yet it was still, as if the only thing that trembled silent in the atmosphere was his warm breath.

This was not how he had imagined it to be. This was not how it was _supposed_ to be. In fact, there were a great number of things that were not the way they were _supposed_ to be.

It was all too peaceful.

And crowded, very crowded, for such a small place- surely the fireworks had been distraction enough?

If not then...

_then_...

"Fawkes," he beckoned the bird, stretching out a shoulder for him to rest on.

He gripped the broom more tightly, poising the handle downwards to make a slow, uneasy descent into Hogsmeade.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

George coughed the remaining ash from his lungs, half laughing and half wincing at the sensation of plumes of smoke puffing out of his mouth, "Worked pretty well for Harry, but we still need to fix out the-" he coughed again, "kinks, right, brother o' mine?"

He let out another rusty wheeze when Fred pat his back, "Righto; never thought'd be this dusty-" he rasped, "When I stole from Snape's potions supplies to make it."

The two wavered in the air for a long time, relishing in the aftermath of their little prank and disguising winces with chuckles when they dared to steal a glance at the absolutely livid professors as the smoke finally cleared.

"Looks like we'll get a long time to fix it now," he guffawed, "If we aren't hanged, of course."

George grinned widely, looking down at the students to see their mixture of reactions, "Ready to meet our fate?"

"Ye..."

Looking through the ashy faces, he recognized awe, anger, disgust-

But his vision stopped on something peculiar.

Abruptly the boy tugged on his brother's sleeve, still wavering above the hall.

Eyes following down the Gryffindor table like fish following a current, they rested on one particular group of people.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

While the other students buzzed with excitement, they were silent. And _still._ _Still_ with a solemnity which he had yet to encounter in his life, paralyzed with a...

With a...

Was it anger?

No.

Surprise?

No.

...Fear?

Yes.

They were as pale as apparitions, like ghostly and statuesque specters with eyes so wide and so unseeing that the soot on their faces only served to illustrate the weightiness of their anxiety and the perpetual shadows that lingered over them.

It was in that very moment, the center of his chest feeling like a decrepit building in an earthquake, his arms falling limply to his sides like leaden weights, that George realized something monumental.

Without knowing it, he could have just possibly made the worst decision of his life.

This was not how it was _supposed_ to be.

Not at all.

"What did we just do?"

"I don't know."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The buildings were so narrow that they looked like packed sardines holding their breath, bricks slathered with tacky yellows and greens and reds, crumbling in some places and supported just barely in others by magic. The cobblestone streets seemed equally as narrow and equally as packed, like a moving assembly line that just kept gaining more and more clusters of pointed hats as it scooted along.

Squeezing his broom in one hand, he grabbed the ends and shrunk it, plopping it into his the pocket of his robes and glancing up wearily at the trail of phoenixes that flew overhead.

He pulled the hood tightly over his head, digging his arms into his pockets and squeezing himself out of the tight space between two shops.

Once again exasperated by the startling lack of ominous wind, and by the abundance of loose chatter that ripened the air, Harry fought against the breeding relaxation that birthed in the marrow of his bones and seeped outward into his muscles.

Too peaceful. Much, much too peaceful. Like an inaudible melody was whistling through the air, causing laughter and sparks and an unusual happiness to fill the space.

Nobody should be happy.

Frankly, nobody should be here.

Except for Aurors-

Or guards, or something, somebody who would be wrapped in an invisible string pulled tight, somebody whose vocal cords were so squeezed that they were forced to speak in a hushed whisper. Somebody afraid. Somebody besides him who could share his muted panic, somebody he could meet eyes with that would reflect his own, that would share some sort of understanding.

Harry weaved throughout the people, Fawkes bowing his head so low to his shoulder, and acting so unassuming, that few people noticed he was there. Abruptly turning a corner so sharp the cobblestones had to be whittled down to triangular wedges, the boy wandered into the darker corners of Hogsmeade.

Passing Zonko's, Dervish & Bangs and Gladrags', the boy noticed the peculiar draining color of the shops, bright yellows turning into mute grays and dark reds, as well as the draining of people away from these places.

The whole area reeked of dust and cobwebs and darkness, not very much unlike Knockturn Alley, and everyone was just like him, with eyes averted to the ground and hoods up.

So closely his eyes were following the stones, that Harry almost didn't realize it when he saw a flash of blonde in his vision from beyond a window pane.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Snape's face had long since been cleaned of all the soot from the Darkness Powder, so white and drained that both George and Fred thought he'd pass out before he'd ever managed to drag them both forcibly out of the Hall.

Of course, despite the palor of his skin, and the violent shaking of his shoulders, the man still had an unbridled strength that the collars of their robes started to rip under right as he threw them into his office.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry looked up at the sign right above the door which, in faded letters, read: HOG'S HEAD. There was a crudely drawn boar with deadened eyes and red seeping out of its neck, and the boy wondered vaguely what the owner was thinking before drawing his face up to the glass.

The window was a weepy old thing, coated in grey and splatters that were viciously scrubbed at, yet the boy could only just slightly see inside.

His eyes cruised over darkened silhouettes that were perched atop stools and bent low to splintered tables.

Distinct features of everybody stood out, like the overly large nose of the bartender, not unlike that of the boar, and the rigidness of another man's face that was dug into a pitcher of some old beer. One other guy had an eye that was slightly more slanted than the other, and another was missing his right ear.

It was an odd collection of people.

Eyes narrowing, he peered through a layer of dust, and his vision immediately was drawn to one customer balancing the front two legs of her chair up into the air and holding onto the edge of the bartender's counter. Her light, wispy hair stood out like the silver flash of a fish in murky water.

_"Luna?"_

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

His face was the color of pale oatmeal and loomed up at them like a thunder cloud, his voice as static as lightning, "Do you have any idea what you two have just done?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry entered into the shop, coughing at the dust circulating in the air.

The blonde hair gleamed brighter in his vision.

Ignoring the eyes drawn to him like strings, he extended a pale arm out towards the girl, "Luna?"

She wheeled around in the small stool, blinking with an absent expression, "It's nice to see you here, Harry."

"You need to leave. You need to get out of here," He dropped his voice down to a near inaudible whisper, clapping his arm onto her shoulder.

The edges of her mouth lifted upwards only slightly, the smile never truly reaching her eyes, "I like it here."

"You know what day it is. You know, and yet you're here," he hissed, "Why?"

"I have to work on my article," she said, rubbing her finger over the surface of the counter and examining the dirt coated on her fingerprints as if it were the most intriguing thing in the world, "You know?"

"Luna, please," Harry pawed at her wrist, bringing her attention back to him, "Please don't be here."

"It wasn't my choice, it was yours," she said, blinking up at the ceiling.

She stared back down at him, eyes a bright blue, and he grew quiet.

As the seconds ticked on, the boy saw an orange light dance over her skin and skate over her eyes like the color a flashlight makes when pointed at the little glassy pupils of a porcelain doll.

At that moment, he saw her eyes widen and her face fall, letting more of the orange bounce off of her pupils and into his, until, just like a bike's reflectors passing by in the dead of night, the orange light passed.

It was at that moment, light just leaving the last inch of her face, that shards of glass from the weepy window behind him expelled outwards and into the shop- the orange shooting into the brick just past the bartender's head.

The boy didn't know which he had heard first:

The shouted "Reducto!"

The terrified screams.

Fawkes' irritated squawk.

The spell whizzing past his left ear.

Or it obliterating the wall that once stood just five feet away from him.

One thing he was sure he had heard last was the blood whistling in his ears,

and his magic roaring in his core like a harpooned soldier,

"Go, run as fast and as far as you can," he shouted, squeezing into the girl's arms and shaking her, before wheeling the other way towards the door.

Before he could leave, he felt her fingers brush over his and, grasping him loosely, she smiled, "You shouldn't worry, everything will be okay. Okay?"

Unwittingly, some of the panic left his face, "Okay."

"Okay."

Carefully sliding his hand out of hers, the boy turned back to the door and poured out into the streets.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP


	55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

Thank you to all my followers, favorite-rs, readers, reviewers! You're amazing.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

"Fawkes, I want you to help people as much as you can- do something, you're much better going than being with me."

_'Child...' _

"Go."

Breathe-

One.

Two.

His magic stirred, rippling back and forth from his core like unconquerable tides.

His chest burned.

One.

Two.

Three.

Breathe in.

It seemed almost impossible in the packed alley cozied inbetween two buildings, where the walls were tight, and the stones anxious.

A scream rung from the edge of Hogsmeade, making the silver bands on his arms hiss and coil.

Another scream.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

He couldn't, no, no, not enough air- the off-white walls were too close, and he kept bashing his damn elbow into the mop handle, and he kept sucking in the plaster from when Dudley stomped on the stairs, and the light above his head was swinging precariously, and he didn't know how long Vernon was going to keep him in here-

Stop. Wait.

Breathe.

Wait.

No, he isn't in his cupboard.

He's at Hogsmeade, he is Here. Here. Here.

Stuffed in the crevice between two oppressively gray buildings. Like cardboard boxes shoved into attics, forgotten, with old records and yellowing photographs and the crinkling pages of books.

Just breathe; suck in the scent of the stones, the stones that quivered like boulders knocked off the edge of a precipice, that hit the ground trembling, that cracked and split and eroded by water, by wind, by corrosive algae and the salt of the sea. Yes, breathe.

Allow it to fill swelling, unwilling lungs.

Oxygen and the scent of chiseled stone.

Two things he might never know again.

Merlin, he prayed this wasn't the last thing he'd smell.

He'd rather smell lavender, or a pungent vanilla perfume, or maybe even sniff the sterility of hospital bed sheets when he's had time to become old and gray, or yellow, like fading photographs.

Another scream echoed.

Another spike of magic pierced out from his core and swam in his limbs.

Breathe.

Laughter broke out just past his ear, "_Crucio_!"

Harry shifted his head, ducking it into the darker space of the alley, and watched a lean, robed figure flick her wrist, dark curls poking out from under her hood.

Another man he didn't recognize clapped a hand on the Death Eater's shoulder, "Now, now, Bella, don't you think that's become a bit overused?"

"If you think so, then why don't you exercise your _supreme creativity_ over this Muggle Lover?"

The boy sunk to his knees, poking his head just slightly out of the alleyway.

His vision traveled up the street-

His eyes locked; unwavering, unflinching.

Hunched figure.

Cowering.

Trembling, just like the stones.

As if attached by magnets, the elder man's eyes immediately glued to his own.

His back arched and he collapsed, shivering on the ground before lifting himself by his shaking arms onto his knees.

His mouth curled, just as much, if not more quivering, than the rest of his body. Irises flashing like silver current reflecting the sun's soft gleam, pouring into black, empty pupils.

He could barely mouth the words, yet the boy could hear his plea expanding in his head:

_Please. Please help me._

_Please._

_Don't leave me here._

Just like his own. The elder man's nails digging into the cobblestone just as his nails once dug into the dewy plaster on the small cupboard door. The stifling heat, the hunger, the unquenchable thirst for more than just water, but for a savior, for love, for care, for redemption.

And how hard it was to keep himself from crying, even though his whole body, his whole head, his entire being, screamed that would get him even more bruised.

The vacuous hopelessness that sprung up like crude oil from the ground when that Lady walked away, with the high-buttoned collar and pen skirt and tights that hid the age spots on her legs.

_"At his school today, allegations were brought up concerning his home life."_

_Uncle Vernon's eyes seemed to pop right out of his skull, his face turning as red as a beet. "So, the boy's been spinning lies again, hasn't he?" he spat mutinously, "We put a roof over his head, feed him, provide him with clothes and education... and he does this to us? He tries to rip our family apart?" the man muttered, creating a detailed narrative about how the rotten boy had put all of those bruises on himself as a meaningless ploy for attention._

_The prim, elderly lady nodded her head in complete agreement to the man and Petunia, adding in commentary such as the occasional, "Kids these days, don't get harsh enough punishment...", "Hope you put the boy in his proper place...", and other vicious remarks._

In that old man, hunched on the ground, he saw himself reflected.

The stones breathed.

"Sometimes it is the simplest of spells that create the most satisfying results..."

Those eyes never faltered from his own.

A wrist flick, "_Diffindo_!"

Harry didn't move as the streak of light zipped past his eyes.

But his magic did.

Coiling like a serpent, the bands on his arms squeezed, sending jets of white streaking out of his hands that clasped the ground. The magic ran like colors bleeding over a canvas just barely underneath the surface of the cobblestone, swimming, under they laced seamlessly with the atmosphere.

The elder man did not have the energy to tense, the light approaching, the sweat of adrenaline and pain collecting on his brows, until, until-

Nothing.

The red streak dissolved like weak food coloring into an invisible pond.

"Perhaps its time you went back to third year," the woman snickered.

A low growl, "Try it, then."

"_Avis Destructus._"

A flock of birds appeared, tensed, zipping towards the feeble man-

-Only to hit an invisible screen and waver into nonexistence.

The death eaters stilled to match the silent wind.

Harry sucked in a breath.

She tucked a strand of curly hair back under her hood, pulling it perhaps even more over her head than it was formerly.

The boy could hear the slow, languorous smile spreading over her face.

"I think we have a visitor, 'Dolphy," She curled her wand in her fingers, grasping it loosely.

"Must you call me that, dear?"

She didn't comment, back turned from Harry, and her grasp on the wand grew minutely tighter. Wrist curling. Deep breath. Bone-saw knuckles glinting and back straightening; poised for action...

The boy faltered for only a moment, letting his need for oxygen and his fear make him suck in a quiet gasp.

Quiet, yet audible.

And just like that, the woman turned, arm raised comically in the air, an unnamed green spell dancing on the tip of her wand. And her eyes peered straight at him through a half mask that couldn't disguise her toothy grin.

"Oh, just a _boy_, is it?"

Abruptly her hand curled around his neck and collar, dragging him up and into the streets.

"Thought you could save this poor old fool, didn't you, you piffy little thing?" she spat, eyes narrowing before her grin broadened even more unnaturally, "Although, I do admire the power it must have taken, you don't even have a wand with you, you would make a great addition to-"

A scream echoed on the other side of Hogsmeade, making him jump and turn.

There was a sharp sting on the side of his face.

"Now, now, what happens there doesn't concern you, _yet," _she chuckled, "Our Master is quite busy."

The taller, more imposing death eater shook her by the shoulder, "Oh, Bella, your long years in Azkaban must have done some great disservice to your mind-" he snickered, "This isn't just _any_ boy."

He choked as the hand on his neck squeezed, "This can't be..."

"Yet, it is."

"This is the _noble_ savior of the Wizarding World?" She cackled, voice echoing down the street, "This is _Harry Potter_? Hiding away in the gutters like some slug?"

The boy could see heads peek up into the windows from the shops parallel to him, curious eyes and cowering citizens.

Her voice dropped, "How I can't wait to make every single molecule in your puny little body-"

"You know he's meant for the Dark Lord."

She sniffed, shoulders drooping, "Shame."

He barely stopped himself from clawing at the woman, choking again. Her arm exercised even more force over his neck, "I wonder how many of your friends and family are dead right now," she whispered, gazing cruelly, "Oh wait, you don't have a family, do you?"

His magic churned of its own accord.

Her head craned over his neck, warm breath licking at his ear, "The Dark Lord saw sure to that."

White hot anger cascaded over his eyes, blinding him, and a short burst of magic escaped from his arms.

She staggered back, overwhelmed, and the white washed out of his eyes-

-Leaving the grays and reds and oranges of Hogsmeade to seep into his vision.

His glamours had crumbled.

The bands on his arms sprung up like the hot, thick rings of an old stove, white light glimmering.

More heads peeked up from the shops.

One.

Two.

Three.

Exhale.

"Take me to Voldemort."


	56. Chapter 56

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"My Lord," she purred, digging her fingernails into his arm hard enough to draw blood, "I believe this is Harry Potter."

Red eyes. Red, red eyes.

Not at all like a warm red, the red of a common room fire, or like the red lining of a wool jacket, or the residual heat of the red sparks that shot out of his wand the first time he held it.

A bad red. A red of catastrophe.

Lined with yellow.

Like the yellow he saw in Voldemort's fireplace and in Nagini's eyes and glistening vaguely on the Grimmauld Place doorknob when he had first realized he had to do something.

Bad red and bad yellow and bad orange.

With a voice that sounded like the tearing of dark satin.

There was a vague flicker of surprise and then the unnatural widening of his mouth into something that just barely resembled a human smile, "And we meet again."

Harry said nothing.

Those red eyes slid down his arms with the consistency of sludge, watching the exposed silver bands ripple and slither, before flicking back up to his face.

Red met green.

A tension thick and unbearable stirred in his veins, making his heart sputter as if his arteries were clogged with mayonnaise, blocking the sounds of screams and spells and shouts and curses that surrounded him.

The red snapped away, Voldemort circling around the vicinity, before coming closer and resting on the death eater that gripped him, "He is _mine_ to kill."

"Yes, My Lord."

Harry said nothing.

A vivacious green to match the boy's eyes lit the tip of Voldemort's wand, "Let us not waste time with meaningless chatter."

His magic ebbed from his core, swimming into his limbs like olive oil drizzled into a sizzling pan.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Red like trembling hair entered his vision with green like scared eyes and then a woman's scream-

Wavering and then disappearing.

Harry's magic roared to life, unsettling the cobblestones beneath his feet and, suddenly surging with energy, he ducked to the ground, letting the green streak past his head and slam into an unsuspecting building.

There was the sound of crashing rubble and then nothing again.

Green and yellow and brown and orange feathers hovered in his peripheral vision.

He breathed.

One.

Two.

Three.

The orbs in his hands lit with blinding power, sending unnamed spells streaking towards Voldemort-

Only to hit a shield and waver into nothingness.

Harry heard him hiss in displeasure, pausing momentarily, before dozens of spells dotted his vision, leaving his eyes so stunned with bright color that he had to blink out the spots of residual light-

They streaked towards him, his limbs filled with that energy again, either lit by the fire in his veins or the fire in his core-

He ducked, rolling, and jumped to his feet again, staggering back as they barreled through the air.

As the lights blinked out of his eyes, new colors emerged; that of mute brown and red and skin-colored dots that rose over the hill and made him shake.

He squinted and, as the dots approached just past Voldemort's head, he could distinguish hooves and bows and sinewy muscles poised for action-

The centaurs.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Luna sucked in the smell of crashing stones and gray rubble, breathing the vigor and the dust that they granted Her.

The stones were on Her side, She was sure.

She was on Her hands and knees, squinting, watching the activity of restless and bounding feet and the plumbing of cobbled streets by jets of spells that hadn't hit their target.

Her eyes stopped on one particular pair of feet that hopped up and swayed from side to side-

And Her eyes traveled up them, sliding over legs and back until she noticed the black mop of hair and the glimmering bands on his arms and the phoenixes swirling overhead-

Harry.

Mother Earth would never allow one of Her blessed children to fall.

Luna ducked Her head closer to the ground, breathing in the stones again, and not unlike a dog She weaved through the alleys and streets.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the back of his head, Harry recognized the sounds of screams and pain- his magic reached out of his core nimbly, hitching onto his veins, and little rays of light poked through his skin up to the sky and throughout Hogsmeade.

His magic swirled in the air like the mists of opium, jets of power streaming into invisible fueled funnels and shooting out to black robed figures.

Voldemort sent red and yellow and green spells towards him, still invigorated,

Duck.

Roll-

One spell slammed in his shield, crumbling.

Another dodge,

And other jets of light willfully streaking into the buildings or the stones or the street, sending rubble and terror and screams to punctuate the air.

A translucent dome formed like an eggshell up in the air over his head, spreading like wax dripping from a candle.

Arrows and orders and screamed curses filled his ears to the brim yet he did not hear them.

His arteries and veins started to burn.

Another spell-

and his body lurched sideways, just barely avoiding it, his legs stirring with something not unlike lactic acid-

His lungs sucked in oxygen but it was like his own body was rejecting it, making him heave, making him want to wilt onto the ground.

Voldemort's cackle rose above the white noise in his ears, "Getting tired, Harry?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

She grew closer to the boy, eyes paralyzed on him as his neck started to slump, and rose to Her feet,

Getting so close She could hear Harry's labored breathing-

It pained Her, made Her gut twist in revulsion.

Mother Earth's children, Her children, should never have to suffer as such.

Luna would not make the same mistake that She made with Merlin,

Harry must not die, not under Her watch.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Another Green light crawled along Voldemort's wand, creeping so slow and yet so menacingly, that the boy knew what spell he was going to cast even before the words left his mouth-

A hiss, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

His legs were too tired,

and the green hurtled ever closer to him,

whizzing through the air right inbetween his eyes,

Green watching green,

and it expanded, coming so close that he could hear scraping against the still air

He could hear the oxygen molecules sizzle and recoil at its touch-

Until it snapped into an invisible barrier that formed just inches from his skin,

staying still and hovering weakly until it crumbled-

And the magical barrier crumbled with it.

Red eyes widened, angry, awed,

And Harry barely had enough time to react as another green spell was sent hurtling into the atmosphere right towards his ear.

He turned his head, watching it grow, and realized quite blankly that there was nothing he could do.

His magic tried to creep up from the ground, tried to raise another barrier, but he was too tired.

His arms were too heavy to even protect his face.

The only resistance he had left was to feel the burn in his blood.

He was going to die.

The green grew and grew like an unstoppable weed, all but filling his vision until he saw a flash.

A flash of gold, or of blonde?

The flash rivaled the speed of the green, until it turned towards him, and he saw her.

He saw the faint, dreamy smile, and the lilting blue eyes and the faintly sad expression and the blonde hair haloed by the green.

And the green slammed into her- just like that- sending her body crumbling to the cobblestones.

Lifeless.

Void.

Harry sucked in a breath and his magic surged again, once again lit by the haze of power-

A jet of pure silver shot out of his arms and collided into Voldemort,

a scream,

and then nothing but wisps of smoke and ash floating in the air.

He was gone.

Harry slumped to the ground, feeling talons on shoulders, and crawled towards the blonde with his last reserve of energy.

He rolled her on her back, eyes traveling over the girl's uniform and then looking at the supple white face, and expressionless lips, thin nose and then eyes.

It was the eyes that did it.

All of the oxygen in his chest belted out in a cry of pure anguish, as pure as the silver that he shot at Voldemort-

Luna.

Luna, no.

Luna, please.

Dead eyes. Vacuous eyes. Eyes he had grown fond of, now taken away.

"_Luna_," he rasped, grabbing at her arms, "Luna, wake up, please."

"Luna, now's not the time to be sleeping," a choked cry, "You're silly, Luna, but did you see? I got him. I did, see? Luna, please, you could get hurt out here. Please. Get up."

'_She is no longer with us, Child._'

Harry held onto her more desperately, tugging at her arms, finding the strength to haul up her limp torso and envelop her into a hug.

His arms wrapped around her neck, "Everything will be alright, okay? You're okay, okay?"

Blank silence.

"Okay?"

He choked.

"Please say okay, Luna. It's Okay. Okay. Okay?"

She said nothing.

"Okay, I'll be your okay-er. I'll say okay for you. Okay? Okay."

He didn't hear the Death Eaters disapparate.

Or the Aurors appear.

"Okay, okay, okay."

He didn't even feel the tug at his arms,

and the warmth of the girl disappear from his chest and face

as he was dragged into someone else's arms,

"Potter, we need to leave," the man grasped into him tightly,

He dug his face into the man's robed chest, swallowing the scent of cinnamon and birch trees and potions, and hung on like gripping a life line.

"Okay."


	57. Chapter 57

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

*Note: Fanfic had some issues yesterday with viewing new uploaded chapters, so you may want to go to Chapter 56 and read that first before starting this one because you might have missed it!

*Another note: Thank you to all the followers, favoriters, reviewers, readers, etc for enjoying or taking a chance on my story! It means so much to me after working for so long on this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

**_Back to the Beginning_**

**_Late June, 1995_**

Fawkes had long since grown used to the steady metronome of the grandfather clock that ticked to his left, his perch tilted in such a way that the golden pendulum glinted just so in his beady eyes.

In fact, he'd grown used to a great many sounds and odd sights in the eccentric Headmaster's office- like the occasional flashing of the chandelier above his head, as well as the dinging, whistling, and whizzing of purposeless little ornaments crowded by even more purposeless little ornaments. Some trinkets looking vaguely like stethoscopes, others like stilted spheres, and others like jewel-candied glass vases which the bird had yet to identify.

Some things, well, he had grown _used to_ yet certainly not _fond of- _such as the sound of the Headmaster chewing lemon drops or the peevish remarks of perpetually disgruntled portraits. On particularly bad days, it would not be an exaggeration to claim that the bird felt like digging his talons into said faces of the aforementioned portraits.

And yet, somehow, he had managed to steady himself. To keep himself sane despite all the reasons that he had to not be quite so sane.

For the moment, it was not an unpleasant existence. At some times, sitting on his perch and stuck with all the whistling and thumping and crunching lemon drops, Fawkes felt contented.

It was the bird's most peaceful moments that he was, time after time, always met with one astoundingly true comparison:

Peace was the same thing as the Headmaster's little glass ornaments.

Both had a tendency to break rather easily.

As he would have it, it was one of those days. One of those tranquil days. One of the days that Fate herself thought she'd been much too still for much too long.

And it was right then, relishing the diminished warmth of another summer evening, that _It_ had first hit him.

The scent of bitter merengue pie and roses sweating in the sun, of charred peach hanging above flame, of Mother Earth Herself. Of untold powers.

Fawkes grew stiller than everything in the room; stiller than the vibrating glass vases and the shuffling portraits, stiller than the waters of the untouched pensieve and the sleeping spiders on the walls.

_Of Merlin._

_The scent of Merlin._

The bird staggered off of his perch, deciding instantly to break stillness, and his wings whirred frantically in the air- all the grace of the phoenix heritage gone along with the peace.

Many, many years it had been, and his old friend had finally returned.

Swooping through corridors and down flights of the stairs, the bird weaved through the school, barely avoiding being plastered on stone walls and colliding into rails.

The closer he got, the more he could sense this familiar power, and the stirring in his gut and head and wings made the memories more alive than ever-

The memory of what the _Old Magicks_ felt like, milling in another's veins, and how it had always tentatively reached out to quell his own nerves.

The memory of lean shoulder that worked so much better as a perch than wood did.

The memory of kindred souls condensing into One.

The pleasant burning in his heart and head and wings expanded outwards to each feather...

Merlin.

Merlin has come back.

Merlin has come to get him.

Fawkes cascaded into the Foyer and hovered around the entrance of the Great Hall, knowing full well he had reached his destination.

'_Merlin!_' he chirped.

The bird stopped dead, wings beating softly.

He did not see his old friend.

Beady eyes meandered down towards the steps at the entrance of Hogwarts and, instead, he saw a mess of black hair dug into knobby knees.

A thin, thin boy; much too thin and, as Fawkes' eyes narrowed closer, he saw blood tinging a ragged shirt much too big for him.

This was not the Merlin he had remembered; this was not Merlin at all.

The bird lowered himself onto a vaulted clerestory as his enthusiasm was eaten away. Of course it couldn't be him. The dead could not be resurrected.

But that power, so much like his...

'_It is just as Merlin has predicted, the Old Magicks has returned...'_ Fawkes squawked quietly, '_And has Awakened in a new host.' _

The thin boy steadied himself up by the rail, peering incomprehensibly at the rusticated stone walls.

The bird recoiled with shock when he saw his face.

Harry Potter.

A battered, bruised Harry Potter.

It couldn't be...

The boy mumbled to himself, "I...I'm...how did I...", wondering how he had just appeared at the school.

Who _could have _done this? Who _could have_ done such demonstrable harm to a child, especially to a child as gentle and caring as Harry?

A child who had risked his life for the school in first year, again in second year, rivaled the law in third year in order to save an innocent man from imprisonment, and faced the greatest evil since Grindelwald in fourth year...

... And what a perfect host to be granted Mother Earth's essence.

Harry staggered backwards, resting on the steps again, and waited.

The bird closed his eyes in equal parts of weighty shock and sadness, squawking in surprise when a loud sound blasted through the air:

"HELLO!"

Had the child wandlessly cast a _Sonorus_ charm?

After a heady pause, Harry continued, "Please come to the Great Hall."

He dug his face back into his faintly glowing palms and waited.

It was only when the bird was assured that someone was coming, namely Professor Snape, that he glided soundlessly past the pair right as the man inquired, "Who did this to you?"

And the boy answered, lying as weakly as he'd ever heard: "I fell."

_Oh child, you don't deserve this. Any of this._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Merlin grasped at the bird's plumage, stroking softly as the silver bands on his arms weaved into Fawkes' wings, "Dost ye, Fawkes, Phoenix of the Light, know full well the extent and the consequences of this Magical Oath?"

He nodded, '_I dost.'_

The small lake was black and quiet.

"Dost ye, Fawkes, Phoenix of the Light, knowing full well the implications, promise wholeheartedly to shield, to protect, and to grant the future Awakened One a constancy and support that knows no boundaries?"

The wind picked up again, sending dust into the atmosphere, and the thin strings over his wings grew tighter, '_I dost.'_

"And art thou, Fawkes, Phoenix of the Light, prepared to handle the tragedies which will surely follow the future Awakened One- the Darkness, the Sorrow, and the untold Horrors?"

There was a pregnant pause and the bird watched the silver bands of the Oath glimmer.

He knew he was not, yet he also knew that there were some things that had to be done.

'_Yes._'

The light enveloped his eyes, strings tightening and then dissolving.

The Oath had just begun.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

**...The End.**


	58. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing

*Note: I may or may not do a sequel, depending on how I feel and if anyone wants it. So, don't unfollow quite yet. :)

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP 

Aside from the general consensus that one should be wearing at very least a vague frown and look attentive, yet not too lively, nothing existed except washes of gray and black and white.

Everything was either much too black or much too pale, and whether it was the stiff looking suits or polished boots or semi-wilting white flowers that looked the dreariest, Harry couldn't tell. Even the phoenixes that flanked him looked dull in color.

Yes, just black and white, and the only warmth that existed was the steady hand resting on his shoulder.

Luna wouldn't have wanted it this way.

Luna would've wanted red and green and blue so neon that it was forever burned into everyone's retinas. She would've liked dancing and laughter and obscure Norwegian pastries and little figurines and enchanted teapots that would take whatever chance they could get to discuss Mermish Politics with anyone they could possibly find.

If she had planned her funeral, she would've even invited the nargles. And the wrackspurts- never forget the wrackspurts. There would be random booms and pops and bursts and singing streamers that would make everybody jump five feet in the air whenever it sounded in their ears.

The boy's fingers were sweaty, gripping harshly a bouquet of flowers. _White_ flowers.

All at once he felt nauseated and foolish and disgusted with himself.

He was just like everyone else in the room, and for once in his life, that wasn't a good thing. He was just like those idiots who had their collars buttoned up all the way and their blank ties ironed perfectly and their faces a little too pale.

And he brought _white_ flowers, of all things. White little roses half-bloomed and already wilting, leaving dried crumbles all over the slate gray carpet.

No, not gray carpet. Red. But a dull red, of all reds. So dull it was just like gray.

He couldn't make himself go up to Mr. Lovegood and hand him- hand him- these _things_. These flowers that looked like everybody else's. These _dead_ flowers. To Luna's father.

Harry took a step back, feeling Snape's hand resist against him, and he looked up blankly at the man.

His voice was gray too, "_Please._"

"You are strong, you can do this," It didn't sound like his professor at all. Not one bit, but his voice was warm and resonant and colorful. Almost as lively as Luna would've liked.

"Okay," He nodded, pausing, "Okay."

That hand never left his back as he made his way across the room and Harry couldn't be more thankful of the meager strength it granted him as Mr. Lovegood's raw and pale and tired looking face floated in his eyes.

The man turned to him, fiddling with his wiry blonde hair and managing a smile that looked like weak coffee.

Harry glanced down to his flowers, hands trembling, and felt a hot wave of shame pour into his face.

"Sir, I'm so sorry," the boy said, the thickness of his throat making the words a rasp, and he wanted to say everything, to admit, to scream, to cry, to beg for the forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve but the words couldn't come out, so he settled, "I'm so sorry."

The man extended an arm and for a very brief moment Harry thought he wanted him to shake it but, as suddenly as the arm had slithered out, it had grasped him, pulling him in. Just like that, he was put into a very hard, very warm, and very long bear hug by none of than Mr. Lovegood.

"Call me Xeno," the man said, "Luna would've wanted it that way."

He almost dropped his flowers but Snape had caught them, sticking the bouquet onto a tall coffee table in the middle of the procession that had the rest of the flowers.

All at once he was reminded of her and he couldn't help the wetness that brimmed in his eyes. Pulling back from the man, he trembled, "Okay."

Xeno looked a little less pale, a little less raw, "You have a lot of her in you."

"You too."

Harry only moved to crane his neck when he heard Hermione gasp and then he wheeled around entirely, seeing the brightest and most magnificent colors sprout from the honey-wood coffee table in the middle of the room.

From his formerly white flowers grew exotic and unforgettable breeds- crimson red avens, deep purple lilacs, fuschia-tinted African daisies and marigolds, Mexican poppies and rich buttercups, sunflowers and bells of every kind, exotic breeds and twining vines that curled green bands over absolutely every sprouting incarnation.

It was lively and beautiful and everything Luna would've wanted and, for the first time in weeks, Harry smiled and it was with the broadest grin he'd ever had.

Even when she was gone, Luna was still there.

She'd never really left after all.


End file.
